The Serpent and The Crown
by The Green Pumpkin
Summary: Shortly after Harry Potter learns that he is a wizard, he finds himself thrust into a world full of medieval fantasy, complete with kings and castles, knights and dragons, and everything else he never expected. An AU Harry Potter story.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter does not belong to me.

A fair warning - this story is very AU. Please do not take anything for granted. Please review!

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**Chapter One**

"Get up, boy," a shrill voice called through the door. "I want you to get breakfast started."

Groaning, Harry rolled over in bed and looked at the small clock radio on his battered nightstand. The radio tuner no longer worked and neither did the alarm, but the clock part was alright even if the lights flickered on and off sometimes.

"It's too early," Harry grumbled, and tried to burrow back into his pillow.

There was a sharp rap on the door. "You've ten minutes, and then I expect you downstairs," the voice called again. "Your uncle has a big meeting this morning and I won't have you making him late."

Sighing, Harry sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he replied resignedly, "I'm coming."

He sat there until her footsteps faded away and then started to dig through his drawers. Most of his clothes were cast-offs from his cousin, and barely presentable. He managed to pick out a t-shirt that wasn't too large and was pulling it on just as his door opened and crashed against the wall with a bang.

Laughing, Dudley barreled into the room and knocked over a pile of books that were stacked on the child-size desk in the corner. "Aren't you ready yet, freak?" he bellowed. "Mum wants you to cook my bacon."

"Sod off, Dudley," Harry grumbled and pushed his way out into the hall.

Dudley shoved him back and grinned. "I'm telling Mum!"

Scowling, Harry tried to push him back, without much success. Dudley might have been bigger, but luckily, Harry was faster. "Go ahead," he retorted hotly, and darted down the hall to the stairs.

When he got to the kitchen Dudley was lumbering at his heels, so his Aunt boxed his ears for taunting his cousin and set him to looking after the sizzling pan of bacon. "You'll not be getting any today, mind you, not with behavior like that," she scolded waspishly.

Harry wasn't bothered; he knew she wasn't going to let him have any to begin with.

He finished cooking and was dishing out the eggs just as his Uncle Vernon strode through the door and sat down at the table.

"Get the mail, boy," Vernon barked as he unfurled his newspaper.

Harry grimaced, and glanced down at the plate he'd just set himself. He'd managed to serve himself two pieces of toast and a hefty portion of eggs without Aunt Petunia minding, but his cousin Dudley was sure to knick some if he left it unattended.

"Why can't Dudley get it?" he groused under his breath.

His uncle set down his paper and glared. "Don't argue with me," he warned gruffly. "Do as you're told, and be quick about it."

Scowling, Harry darted into the hall, grabbed the mail from the slot in the front door and hurried back to the kitchen. Sure enough, his plate was missing a piece of toast, and at least half of the eggs.

He glared at his cousin, who responded by sticking out his tongue, but didn't say anything. He'd only get in trouble if he brought it up, and he'd rather not spend half the morning stuck in his room.

Vernon took the mail and sorted it with a grunt. "Rubbish, all of it," he remarked idly as he flipped through. "Oh here, this is something, Pet; a letter from Marge - she's vacationing on the continent."

"Oh how lovely," Petunia simpered. "We'll have to have her over for tea when she gets back and hear all about it."

Harry grimaced around a mouthful of eggs. He dreaded the days when Aunt Marge came to visit. She wasn't really his aunt, and she certainly never let him forget it. He usually tried to make himself scare whenever she was in town, but somehow he never seemed to manage. There weren't many places a ten year old could go by himself without arousing suspicion, and suspicion and gossip were two things Aunt Petunia worked very hard to guard against. Usually he wound up stuck up the tree in the back garden, hiding from Marge's bulldog, Ripper.

Vernon finished looking through the various bills and letters and handed Harry a stack of envelopes. "Throw these in the bin, boy, they're all rubbish."

Discreetly, Harry looked through the pile as he crossed the kitchen floor. Once there had been a brochure with some colorful stamps he'd managed to hide away, and another time a sample pad of stationary from the zoo with animals dancing across the bottom. His uncle's name had been printed across the top, but he'd crossed that part out. Today, though, there was nothing worth saving.

"I want you to clear the table and do the washing up," Petunia instructed briskly as Harry sat back down to finish the rest of his breakfast. "When you're finished there's laundry to sort and-"

Before she could finish filling up his day with an endless assortment of chores and housework, a small dark blur throttled through the window over the sink, zipped twice around the ceiling and careened into the platter of toast on the table. It was an owl.

Harry stared at the bird in shocked silence as it shook out its feathers, hopped across the table, and nipped a piece of bacon off Dudley's plate.

A mouthful of eggs fell out of Dudley's open mouth, and his fork clattered against the table. "Mummy!" he bellowed and tipped back his chair, "Get it away from me!"

Petunia, always quick to action where her precious son was concerned, sprang out of her seat. Shrieking, she leapt around the table and tried to shoo the feathered fiend away with a dish towel, but the bird only screeched angrily and upended a pitcher of orange juice.

Vernon roared and rolled up his newspaper, and started swatting it through the air. The owl dipped and darted around his head, screaming and snapping its beak.

Harry watched it all with a sense of awestruck glee. His relatives were always blaming him for strange things that happened, but there was no way they could pin this on him. He'd been sitting there minding his own business just the same as the rest of them when the interloper burst into the room. They couldn't accuse him of having anything to do with it, certainly.

The bird squawked again and circled through the air. Dudley was trying to knock it down with pieces of airborne cutlery, and his father was still chasing it with his newspaper. Neither one of them were fast enough; Harry thought they looked like a pair of dancing walruses.

Suddenly, the bird veered and landed deftly on Harry's shoulder. It stuck out its leg, and for the first time, he noticed what was attached. It was a letter, and it was addressed to him.

With wide eyes, he took the missive. At first, he was sure that he'd been mistaken; he'd never received a letter before, and he couldn't fathom who in the world would want to send him one now. He didn't know anyone, except for the Dursleys and his classmates at school, but none of them liked him. Dudley made sure of that.

The envelope was made of thick, rough paper and sealed with dark red wax, and his name was scrawled across the front in shining silver calligraphy.

Harry Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

Number Four Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

"Odd way to address a letter," he remarked to himself, and made to break the wax.

"That's not for you, boy!" Vernon thundered and snatched the letter out of his hands. Before Harry could protest, he started ripping it into shreds.

"It's got my name on it!" Harry cried, and grabbed desperately at the falling pieces. "And my bedroom!"

The owl hooted scornfully and flapped its wings, then took off back out the window.

Petunia quickly gathered up the scraps and dumped them down the garbage disposal. "Go to your room, now," she whispered. Her face was pale.

"But I didn't do anything!" Harry protested. He should have known better; his relatives always blamed him for anything out of the ordinary.

"No arguing!" Vernon bellowed. He grabbed Harry roughly by the arm, and marched him into the hall and up the stairs to his bedroom. "You'll stay in there until I say so - and no funny business."

Harry scowled and threw himself onto his bed. His aunt and uncle were always lecturing him about "funny business", much to his eternal confusion. He'd never had any idea what they were referring to, but apparently it had something to do with woodland creatures usurping the postman and interrupting breakfast.

He pondered his ceiling for a while, sulking, but he was rather used to such unfair and seemingly arbitrary punishments from his guardians, and his anger evaporated quickly. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the only two remnants of the letter than he was able to seize from his uncle before they were all destroyed. One was blank on both sides, but there was some writing on the other, in fancy script like the envelope. Near the top, it said 'return' and below that, 'ly 31.'

"Return what, or where?" he wondered aloud, quietly. "Maybe the owl will come back, if they wanted a response and they don't get one."

Hopeful, he toiled away the rest of the day locked up in his room reading old schoolbooks and daydreaming about his mysterious correspondent.

Finally, at dinner time, his aunt rapped on the door and pushed it open. She hovered in the doorway, her face pinched and pale, and handed him a plate. "You'll stay in your room the rest of the night," she clipped shortly. "If you behave yourself and don't get up to anything funny you can come out in the morning."

"I will," Harry replied agreeably, "I mean I won't - get up to anything I mean."

Petunia eyed him suspiciously, but nodded. "And leave your window closed."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

As soon as her footsteps had disappeared, Harry rushed over to the window, unlatched it and pushed it open. Grinning, he gazed out at the sky and sat down at his desk to eat his dinner. It wasn't the first time he'd had to eat alone in his room, nor would it be the last, he was sure, but he didn't mind. Rather, he much preferred not having to suffer his uncle's company, or watch out for Dudley's thieving fingers.

He scarfed down his ham & cheese sandwich quickly and sat back to wait. The minutes turned into hours, but still Harry waited, impatiently watching the sky as the sun sank low and the night turned darker and darker.

Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy, and finally, when he could no longer stifle his yawns, he fell asleep.

Several hours later, promptly at midnight on June 12th, a dark shape soared easily through the open window and landed on his pillow. It was the same owl that had delivered the letter that morning, and it wasn't going to stand for anymore nonsense. It hopped onto Harry's chest and nipped gently at his ear.

"Coming Aunt Petunia," Harry blurted groggily, and gave the bird a weak swat.

The bird puffed itself up and hooted at him.

Bolting upright, Harry gasped. "I knew it!" he whispered excitedly. "I knew you would come back! Do you have another letter for me?"

Haughtily, the bird stuck out its leg.

This time, Harry barely stopped to read the address on the outside of the letter. He quickly broke the wax and unfolded the envelope. There were two sheets of the rough paper included inside.

Thankfully, the moon was full and shining brightly through his window so he wouldn't have to chance turning on his light to see. He didn't want his Aunt or Uncle coming in to investigate if they happened to get up to use the loo, not after the ruckus they'd made that morning.

Breathless with anticipation, his eyes raced across the delicately scripted letter.

Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Headwizard: Albus Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer

Harry Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been

accepted as an apprentice at Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find enclosed a

catalogue of available classes and a supply list.

Additional equipment may be required for elective

courses.

Some advanced classes offered in succeeding

years may have prerequisites. Please plan

accordingly.

Please send a return owl with your selections no

later than July 31. Orientation for new apprentices

will be held after the Harvest Banquet on September 1.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headwitch

Harry read the letter, and then read it again. And again. He read the letter six times before he started to feel lightheaded, and realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Wicked," he exhaled. Ordinarily, he might've thought the letter was one of Dudley's jokes, but after the scene that morning, there was no way his cousin had been in on it. It seemed too elaborate anyhow; Dudley's repertoire seemed limited to leaving dead rodents under Harry's pillow, or hiding the ladder when he was on the roof clearing out the gutters.

It could have been someone else trying to take the mickey, he supposed, but he didn't really know anyone well enough to have any other suspects.

"Is this real?" he asked the owl, who appeared to be reading over his shoulder. It cocked its head, and blinked owlishly.

Harry read the letter again. "Hogwarts," he whispered softly to himself, tracing the word with his finger. He thought about all the strange things the Dursleys were always blaming him for, and wondered. Could he really be a wizard? Was magic real?

He looked at the bird again. It looked back.

Taking a deep breath, Harry flipped to the second sheet of the letter. There was a list of classes, just as promised, but he didn't recognize any of them. Apparently, they didn't teach Maths or Geography at Hogwarts.

"Choose three," he read aloud. "Charms and enchantment, trans-transfiguration, conjuration and summoning or elemental magic."

"Bloody hell," he goggled, and scanned further down the list. "Potions, Herbology, Ancient Runes-"

Harry closed his eyes. He felt lightheaded again, but this time it wasn't from lack of oxygen. There were two possibilities; either the letter was a fake and someone was having him on, or it was exactly what it claimed to be - a letter of acceptance to a school that wanted to teach him how to cast spells and brew potions. It wasn't a surprise that he was desperately rooting for the latter, because, honestly, who _wouldn't_ want to be a wizard? He couldn't think of something more brilliant if he tried.

"Bloody brilliant," he affirmed to himself, his voice still heavy with awe and wonder.

But how was he to decide which was the truth? He certainly didn't want to end up a laughingstock, but neither did he want to miss out on an adventure straight out of his storybooks. If he didn't reply to the letter, they might think he wasn't interested and give his spot away to somebody else.

Finally, he decided to play along, and hope for the best.

He worried momentarily how he was going to afford the tuition if Hogwarts really was on the up and up. The Dursley's certainly weren't going to pay for him, and a school of witchcraft and wizardry was bound to be expensive.

"I'll just figure that out later," he commented to the owl, who had hopped up onto his shoulder. "Maybe they have some sort of financial aid program."

If he were honest with himself, he'd have admitted that he would get himself to Hogwarts if he had to beg pennies for schoolbooks and hike there on foot. Magic school just wasn't the sort of thing he was willing to give up, not now that it might be an option.

Jumping over to his desk, he grabbed a pencil from the drawer and a tore a sheet of paper out of his geography notebook. Rereading the list of classes, he tried to decide which ones he wanted to take, but the strange words and foreign ideologies left him glaring at the list in confusion.

"Just what the bloody hell is Arithmancy anyway?" he muttered as he chewed on his eraser.

He poured over the catalogue until the sun started peeking up over the horizon, but he was no closer to a decision. So far, he'd decided only on Potions and Charms & Enchantments because they seemed straightforward enough.

Aunt Petunia would be up soon, though, and he really needed to send the owl on its way before she came rapping at the door.

Deciding quickly, he scrawled out a quick note.

Dear Headwitch McGonagall,

I would love to come to Hogwarts, please, but

I don't know anything about magic, and I don't

know which classes to pick. Can you please

explain them to me?

If that is not possible, please sign me up for

Potions and Charms & Enchantments, and

whatever classes you think are the most

useful.

Also, where can I buy my supplies, and

how do I get to Hogwarts?

Thank you,

Harry Potter

It would have to do. Hopefully, the Deputy Headwitch wouldn't mind his questions and could give him some advice without his relatives catching wind. If he could keep mum on the whole witchcraft and wizardry thing until the end of the summer, things would probably go more smoothly. If they found out now, they might try to stop him, and that would certainly make his life more difficult.

"There you go, mate," Harry said to the owl as he folded up his letter. "Can you take this back to Minerva McGonagall please? I don't know the address, is that alright?"

The owl glared reproachfully and snapped the letter up in its beak. Ruffling its feathers, it took off out the window. Harry watched it swing away until it was barely a tiny spec in the sky, and then sank down on his bed with a sigh.

Too nervous and excited to go back to sleep, he lay there dreaming about magic wands, shadowy sorcerers and mystical mysteries until he heard his relatives moving around out in the hall.

His aunt let him out for breakfast, and then handed him a list of chores she wanted done.

Weeding the garden and cutting the grass were a sight better than staying cooped up in his room all day again, but the day was hot and as the hours dragged on, he started to wonder if and when he would get a reply.

He had no idea where Hogwarts was or how fast an owl could fly, but the bird had returned with his second letter only a matter of hours after the first one was destroyed. When the day came and went without any feathered friends swinging towards him through the sky, he tried not to think too much of it.

The Deputy Headwitch of a big school was probably very busy, and surely she had more important things to do than drop everything and write him a detailed explanation of everything he wanted to know. Surely she would respond as soon as she was able, and all his worrying would be for naught.

The next day passed in much the same manner. Harry repainted the garden shed and the back fence, all the while keeping one eye on the clouds, but no more letters were forthcoming.

Two and a half weeks later, Harry was cleaning the upstairs bathroom and resigning himself to the fact that someone had obviously pulled off a grand joke at his expense when the doorbell rang. He thought nothing of it; Dudley was forever having his friends over to watch the telly or play video games. It was probably just Piers Polkiss from down the street.

When the bell was quickly followed by a blood-curdling shriek and a loud thump, Harry threw down his sponge and bolted out into the hall. He raced down the stairs, ready to tackle the intruder to the ground, and stopped short.

Standing in the doorway, robed like Morgana of the Enchanted Isles herself, was a tall, straight-backed, stern looking witch. She eyed Harry as he thundered down the stairs, and then favored him with a small smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she greeted. Her voice was brisk and matter of fact, but there was a hint of Scottish lilt hidden underneath that made her seem less intimidating. "I am your Deputy Headwitch, Minerva McGonagall, though you may call me Mistress McGonagall if you prefer. I was quite surprised when I received your letter; I wasn't aware you were living with muggles."

"You mean it wasn't a joke!" Harry blurted, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Flushing, he amended, "the letter, I mean. I wasn't sure. I've never heard of wizards or witches before. Well, not real ones - just the ones in the stories. What's a muggle?"

"A muggle is a person without magic," she replied. "Your aunt, for example."

A choked noise sounded from the floor in the hall, and Harry noticed his Aunt crouched down and hiding behind the coat stand. She had a panicked, deer-struck look upon her face that made her look rather like a startled horse. "Go to your room, Harry."

"I won't!" he defied, scowling. "I'm going to Hogwarts and you can't stop me!"

All the color drained from her face. "How did you find out about that?" she demanded, her voice as thin as ice.

"Got another letter," he replied boldly. "Through my bedroom window."

"You're not going," Aunt Petunia shrilled, rising up off the floor. She grabbed an umbrella from the rack and pointed it, arms shaking, towards the witch in the doorway. "You can just take your freakishness and leave. This is private property and I want you out, or I'll call the police."

McGonagall's eyes flashed and her lips thinned into a grim line. "Mr. Potter will most certainly be coming to Hogwarts, one way or the other."

"I won't allow it!" Petunia squawked, and waved her umbrella.

Frowning gravely, the stately looking witch pulled a long slender stick out of her pocket and waved it decisively through the air. The umbrella popped and transformed into bouquet of lilies. Petunia shrieked and threw them on the ground, and ducked underneath Vernon's evening coat.

"Wicked!" Harry cried delightedly. "What kind of magic is that?"

"That was Transfiguration. It's quite a useful school of magic to learn," Mistress McGonagall answered. She turned to him, a spark of mirth dancing in her eyes. "The other classes have their merits as well, of course, but I do hope to see you in my class. I'll be your instructor if you decide to take it."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Sign me up!"

She smiled and put away her wand. "You don't need to make your decision yet; we'll discuss the course catalogue on our way, and any other questions you may have."

"Are we going to Hogwarts now?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Not today, I'm afraid - just a short trip to get your supplies. It's not very far, but we'll be boarding at the inn for the night, so run along and pack a bag while I discuss a few matters with your aunt."

Harry hesitated for a moment, but decided the no-nonsense woman could handle Aunt Petunia. She was only a muggle after all. He grinned to himself, delighting in his fair fortune. He was a wizard - a real wizard - and he was going shopping with a witch, and a rather formidable one at that.

Racing up the stairs and into his room, he grabbed his school pack and dumped its contents on the bed. He wouldn't need those old books anymore, not where he was going. As he rifled through his drawers he wished he had something better than Dudley's old sweats to wear. He wanted to make a good impression if he should meet any other witches or wizards, and he didn't think they would really do the trick. Maybe he could buy a robe like his teacher was wearing when they did his shopping.

Frowning, he remembered his concerns about money and pulled up the loose floorboard under his bed. Whenever he found loose change in the wash or saw a coin on the street he'd hide them away, and he'd managed to save up a few pounds. It wouldn't be nearly enough, he was sure of that, but hopefully it would get him somewhere.

Stopping by the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, he zipped up his pack and sprinted back down the stairs. The Deputy Headwitch was waiting by the door, but his aunt was no longer in the room. Hopefully she hadn't gotten herself turned into a frog.

He snickered to himself, and McGonagall arched a brow. "Something amusing, Mr. Potter?"

Sobering quickly, he replied, "No ma'am, I'm just excited is all."

The wrinkles around her eyes softened as she smiled. "I imagine so. Come along now, we've a way to go before our next stop."

Harry followed her out the door, and stopped short. He'd just assumed they'd be driving, having not considered that witches and wizards might have their own methods of travel, but he hadn't expected the sight that greeted him from the driveway.

A pair of large chestnut colored horses milled about on the gravel chomping lazily at his Aunt's daisies, but the crowning glory was the old-fashioned, medieval style carriage they pulled behind them. It was sturdy looking and simply decorated, but Harry hadn't seen anything like it before, except in pictures. He almost expected Queen Elizabeth the first to step out and give him a wave.

"Step lively, Mr. Potter, I'd like to be at the inn before dark, and we have another errand to run first."

Shaking himself out of his jaw-dropping stupor, he hurried up the carriage step and into the coach behind his escort. "Don't we need someone to drive this thing?" he asked curiously. He hadn't seen anywhere up front for anyone to sit, nor any reins to guide the horses.

"That's what magic is for," McGonagall replied bemusedly. She consulted a thick scroll of parchment from the pocket of her robe, and then tapped the wall of the coach with her wand.

"Number Six, Earlham Street, London," she intoned evenly, and the carriage lurched forward.

There was a window next to Harry, and he lifted the curtain and stuck his head out. The horses had stopped munching at his aunt's flower bed and were gamely stepping down the road at a brisk trot.

"What's at Earlham Street?" Harry wondered aloud as he watched the houses roll slowly by.

"Another student, a muggleborn," Mistress McGonagall answered. "In this case, a witch whose parents are muggles."

"Were my parents muggles?"

The woman looked at him and smiled sadly. "No, Mr. Potter. Your parents were as magical as you or I."

Harry didn't know much about his parents; his uncle had never met them, and his aunt didn't like to talk about them. As much as he'd always been desperate to learn something about them, he couldn't begrudge her too much. He supposed it must've been hard for her, knowing that her sister had been murdered.

He frowned. He'd never questioned her story before; it had always made enough sense, in a tragic sort of way. On Halloween night when Harry was only a year old, someone had broken into their home and tried to rob them. Something had gone wrong, and his parents were both killed. The robber had fled before finding Harry, and he'd been shipped off to live with his aunt and uncle.

Now, knowing that his parents knew magic, the tale seemed flimsy and full of holes. If his dad had been a wizard, why hadn't he used magic to save them from the robber?

"Was the man that killed them a wizard too?" he ventured hesitantly.

McGonagall studied him for a moment, her severe features softening slightly. "Yes, he was."

"Oh."

He looked out the window for a while, staring morosely at the houses as they rolled by, until they veered sharply off the main street. He blinked, and suddenly all the cookie-cutter houses that dotted the paved streets were gone, replaced by sunny, open countryside and a dusty dirt road. Mouth open in astonishment, he leapt off his seat and craned his upper half out the window. Looking back the way they'd come, he could see a slight shimmer in the air, like a mirror that wasn't quite clear enough. Behind it, he thought he could see the neighborhood they'd just passed through.

Ahead of them, and on all sides, there was nothing but open, grassy hills and farmlands. He gaped, amazed.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall bid smartly, "or shall I put the child-safe charms on the windows?"

Flushing, he climbed back in and took his seat. "What happened to all the houses? I didn't know there was this road here."

"You must not have ever been paying much attention then," she answered. "It's a special road, visible only to witches and wizards, leading into our world. We like to keep ourselves separate from the muggle world, you see."

Harry nodded; that made sense. "So how long will it take to get to London? We can't be going very fast in this thing. Do all magical folk use these carriages? How come you don't use cars; wouldn't they be faster?"

The witch eyed him over the top of her glasses. "One at a time, Potter, if you please, if you want any answers," she chided gently. "You'll find that the magical world is quite a bit different than the muggle one that you're used to. We tend to keep ourselves completely segregated, for many reasons, and most witches and wizards that you'll meet have probably never seen a muggle in person, and would have no idea what you meant if you asked them about cars."

"So where is the magical world, exactly?" Harry asked, confused.

"It is all around you," she answered, gesturing out the window, "hidden behind curtains of magic."

"So do you have your own cities and stuff, in your world?"

"In _our_ world," McGonagall stressed with a fond smile. "You are a wizard yourself, after all."

Grinning, Harry nodded.

"To answer your question, yes we do. It might be easiest if you imagine there are two separate Englands - the muggle England that you are accustomed to, and behind it, hidden behind many hundreds of spells and enchantments, another magical England, almost exactly like the first," she lectured thoroughly. "It is the same for the entire United Kingdom, and the world, actually. Hogwarts is in the area that you might think of as Scotland."

Harry tried to picture it, but it made his head ache a bit so he looked window again. In the field beside the road there was a man tending a flock of sheep who waved as they rolled by. He had a wand similar to the Headwitch's, and when he pointed it at one of the sheep, fluffy white wool sheared itself off the animal's back and floated into a sack resting nearby.

Blinking, Harry waved back at the man and then shut the curtain. Magic certainly was amazing.

"It doesn't seem exactly like the muggle world," he mentioned. "I mean, I don't think they have all these farms and whatnot, this near to London."

McGonagall paused, before answering, "I suppose it would be more accurate to say that the two worlds were very similar many hundreds of years ago, before the muggles starting tearing down all their forests and building towers up to the sky in their places."

Harry nodded, and listened as she explained a bit more about the magic world. They didn't use cars, or electricity or computers or anything like that, but he didn't think he'd miss any of it, not when there were so many other brilliant things to discover. Even though the ride to London would have only taken about an hour in Uncle Vernon's car, instead of the several hours it would take them in the carriage, he found he liked it better. He felt like he'd stepped into the world of King Arthur, and then wondered if Merlin had been a real wizard, or if he was really just a story.

After an hour or two of peppering her with many numerous and varied questions, Harry asked about the course list at Hogwarts. He was curious and quite eager to discover what he'd be learning at his new school, but his teacher had other ideas.

"We'll look over the list once we meet your classmate, so I don't have to explain it all twice," she said. Instead, she pulled a small, leather-bound book out of her pocket and handed it across the carriage.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry read off the cover, "Codex for Apprentices."

"Have a read through that, and we can discuss anything you don't understand."

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am." Eagerly, he flipped to the first page, which was inscribed again with the name of the school in full. Underneath that it read, 'Founders Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff.'

Intrigued he read on, and learned about the four great houses of Hogwarts, which were named after the four magical folk who had started the school in an old castle over a thousand years ago.

"Which House do you think I'll be in?" he asked the elder witch.

She looked up from the pile of scrolls she was sorting through and eyed him appraisingly. "Your mother and father were both in Gryffindor," she mused thoughtfully, "but you're a curious one; it might be Ravenclaw for you."

"I'd rather have Gryffindor," Harry admitted, pleased to think he might share something with his late parents.

Across the carriage, Mistress McGonagall seemed privately pleased. "You'll find out when you get to the castle," she replied mysteriously.

He flipped through the rest of the book, which explained that the new school year officially began at the annual Harvest Banquet, which was held at the end of the summer. By the same system, the previous year officially ended the day before the Harvest Banquet, though most classes usually wrapped up midway through the summer. He was pleased to note that many students boarded at Hogwarts year-round, and confirmed with the teacher that if he so chose, he'd wouldn't ever have to return to the Dursley's after he began his schooling in September.

"You are not a muggle," Minerva McGonagall replied crossly, though her ire didn't seem directed at him, "you do not belong in their world no more than they belong in ours."

Delighted, Harry enjoyed the rest of the ride in silence, soaking in all the information from his little book. He was reading about various rules and regulations for First Year Apprentices when the carriage started to slow.

Looking out the window, he noticed they were back amongst the hustle and bustle of muggle civilization.

"Won't the muggles think it's odd, seeing this carriage driving down their streets?" he asked curiously.

"Magic, Mr. Potter," the witch reminded him. "They can't see it."

They stopped in front of a small, well-kept townhouse with a short cobblestone path leading up to the front door.

"So they don't have any idea that we're coming, or that their daughter is a witch?" Harry asked nervously as they waited for someone to answer the bell.

"No, I imagine they will be quite surprised."

"What if they don't want to send her?"

The tall witch frowned, a dark shadow passing momentarily over her face. "Don't worry yourself about that," she replied, and gathered her robe about her tightly. "I can be quite persuasive, when I need to be."

Harry nodded. "Do you have to do that a lot? I mean, are there a lot of muggleborn witches and wizards?"

Mistress McGonagall shook her head. "Very few. There are three this year, which is rather unusual. Most years there aren't any at all."

Harry was going to ask how a muggleborn witch or wizard turned out that way, but just then the door opened. A brown haired girl started to say hello, but stopped and gaped at them, and then at the horses that were grazing in the front garden.

"Hermione Granger, I presume?" McGonagall prompted politely.

The girl nodded, and then shook herself. "Yes," she replied in a very proper sort of voice. "Yes, I'm Hermione. How may I help you?"

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the older woman greeted. "Are your parents in?"

Hermione nodded again, and held the door open wider. Harry could tell the girl was trying not to stare at McGonagall's robes, and not succeeding very well. He smiled shyly at her as he followed the teacher into the house.

Twenty minutes later, he sat in the Granger's front lounge fidgeting nervously in the shocked silence.

"A witch, you say?" Jean Granger ventured finally. She eyed her daughter, who looked just as awestruck and hopeful as Harry had when he'd received his letter.

McGonagall nodded. "Most definitely, and I've come to offer her a place at Hogwarts School so that she might receive some training."

"Oh please Mum, Dad, may I go?" Hermione pleaded eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Well now, I don't know," Daniel Granger objected slowly. "You're already down to start at the Oppenheim School for the Gifted this year."

"Let me assure you that Hogwarts is a very prestigious school - one of the best in Europe - and will provide your daughter a very thorough and varied education."

"But Dad," Hermione reasoned, her eyes firing up for battle, "I'm already a witch, no matter how you feel about it, and I have to have someone teach me how to be a proper one, or I'll just keep doing strange things by accident."

Her mother nodded, and spoke softly in her husband's ear. "You remember at the cabin last summer, with the canoe and the beehive; magic certainly would explain a lot."

Hermione flushed slightly, but soldiered on. "That's right Dad; you don't want that to keep happening to me all my life, do you?"

"Well, no sweetheart I don't," he agreed, sighing, "but I'm just not sure I want to send you to someplace we know nothing about."

McGonagall pulled another copy of the Apprentice Codex out of her pocket and handed it to Hermione's father. "That is why I am here, Mr. Granger," she said, "to answer your questions."

Reluctantly, Hermione's parents eventually agreed to send her to Hogwarts, and Mistress McGonagall moved on to convincing them to let Hermione into her care for the evening in order to purchase her school supplies. Initially, they wanted to come along, and were not well pleased when the Headwitch informed them that muggles were not allowed to enter the magical world.

"I'm afraid it would be a waste of your time," she informed them frankly. "You'd be unable to see anything. Honestly I'm not even sure you'd survive."

Mr. Granger frowned, and shared a dark look with his wife. "I don't know dear; perhaps we should reconsider this whole thing."

The elderly witch frowned gravely, and then turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, would you kindly assist Miss Granger in packing a bag for the overnight while I speak privately with her parents?" she requested in a tight voice. "Perhaps you can share with her some of the things you've learned on our trip here; I'm sure she'd be interested."

Harry glanced uneasily between the three adults, but nodded, and Hermione pulled him excitedly up to her room.

"Can you believe it?" Hermione delighted as she flung open her bedroom door. "We're going to a magic school! Real magic!"

Harry grinned, unable to resist the girl's infectious enthusiasm. "They teach all sorts of different things there; it was all in my letter. Mistress McGonagall is going to explain it all to us when we get to the inn."

"I didn't get a letter!" a muffled voice protested from inside the closet. "What did it say?"

"Just that I'd been accepted at Hogwarts, and to please reply before July 31st," he replied, and sat down on top of the bed in the corner. "There was a list of classes to pick from, too."

Hermione burst out of the closet with a handful of clothes. "What kind of classes are there?" she asked excitedly.

Harry shrugged; he couldn't remember them all. "Stuff like Charms and Potions and Astronomy, and a bunch of other things I didn't understand. That's why I wrote to Mistress McGonagall."

"Didn't she come to visit you like she did with me?"

He shook his head. "No, she said she only does that for muggleborns - people who don't have wizards or witches for parents, I mean."

Hermione frowned. "Couldn't you have asked your parents, then, if you didn't understand the letter?"

"They died when I was a baby," he answered thickly, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. "It was my aunt and uncle who raised me, and they never told me anything about it."

It occurred to him suddenly that his aunt must have known that he was a wizard all along and just never told him. Certainly she had to have known about Harry's mum, her own sister. It bothered him, but he put it out of his mind.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione replied, stopping in front of him. She bit her lip and anxiously twisted up the t-shirt she was holding. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

Smiling, Harry shrugged. "Don't worry about it," he answered easily. "You didn't know."

Shyly, she returned his smile, and then gestured at the pile of clothes she'd gotten out. "I don't know what to bring; I don't have anything like what Mistress McGonagall is wearing." She glanced at him sidelong. "Then again, I suppose you don't either."

She pulled out small duffel and started packing it up.

"We're only staying overnight," Harry pointed out as he looked at the pile of clothes she was trying to fit inside the little bag. "And we'll probably buy new things when we get there."

"Well I just want to be prepared," the girl responded archly, and added a pair of tennis shoes to the lot. She hurried into the bathroom and picked out a few more things. "There I think that's done. Do you think it's safe to go back downstairs?"

"She managed to convince my aunt to let me go pretty quick, and she was dead set against it, so I suspect so."

When they arrived back down in the lounge, the three adults were sitting in tense silence. The Deputy Headwitch stood as they entered. "We should be off, if you're packed," she said.

Hermione eyed her parents. "Alright Dad?" she asked.

Daniel Granger nodded stiffly. "Behave yourself sweetheart; and be careful," he cautioned, and reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. Turning back to the Headwitch, he added, "How much do you think she'll need to buy all of her supplies?"

McGonagall looked taken aback for a moment, but gathered herself together quickly. "Dear me, I almost forgot," she exclaimed. "Muggle money won't be of any value where we'll be going, so there's no need to give her any."

"I don't understand," Mrs. Granger interrupted. "How are we to purchase her things?"

"The school provides small loans for muggleborns or any other student who requests it. It will be enough to cover the tuition and her supplies, and leave her with a little extra for pocket money throughout the year."

"A loan?" Mr. Granger clarified with a frown, "How is she to pay it back?"

"Most students take up the odd job here or there, at the weekend or on afternoons when they haven't any classes. It needn't be entirely repaid until after she finishes her schooling, though I do encourage getting a good head start."

A wave of relief flooded through Harry, and he relaxed a bit. He'd been worried, still, that the school would turn him away when they discovered he hadn't any money. "Excuse me, Mistress," he spoke up, "Can any student apply for one of the loans? I haven't any money either, you see."

Again, McGonagall looked surprised. "Certainly, Mr. Potter, if you need it. I'd have offered, but I'd assumed you wouldn't."

"I'd appreciate it if it's possible," Harry replied quickly. "I don't mind finding a job at the weekend."

"I don't either," Hermione piped up hastily. "I don't mind at all, Dad, it's alright, honestly."

The Grangers did not look happy as they stood in the doorway and waved their daughter farewell, but they didn't brook any more protests. Whatever the Headwitch had said to them must have been very convincing.

"Mind your step there, Miss Granger," Mistress McGonagall warned as Hermione clambered up into the carriage.

"Isn't this fascinating, Harry?" the girl chattered as she stowed her bag under the seat and sat down. "I've never imagined I'd ever have an opportunity like this - I'm just thrilled, aren't you?"

Harry nodded and grabbed hold as the horses trotted forward. "It's brilliant, I think," he answered, and then glanced across the car at their escort. "Are we going to decide which classes to take now?"

"Oh, yes please," Hermione gushed. "I'm sure there's ever so much to learn! How many classes are we allowed to take? I don't know how I'll ever decide on just a few."

The corner of the Headwitch's lips turned up in amusement. "There'll be plenty of time to learn everything you wish to know, Miss Granger," she chuckled indulgently, and pulled a scroll out of her pocket. "Now then, there are two mandatory classes - Fundamentals of Sorcery, which is taught by the Headwizard, Master Dumbledore, and History and Lore, which is taught by Master Binns."

"Splendid, I was hoping there would be a history class; I'm dying to know everything about the magical world already," the girl remarked seriously as she pulled a pen and paper out of her bag. Dutifully, she copied down the names of the two classes, and their teachers. "And learning from the Headwizard - what a remarkable opportunity."

Alarmed, Harry wondered if he should be taking notes as well. "I didn't bring anything to write with," he sputtered nervously.

"Quite all right, Potter," McGonagall assured, "you may follow along from your letter if you wish."

"You can use my notes if you want, Harry."

"Thanks, Hermione; that would be great."

"History and Lore is a mandatory class for your first four years of study; after that you may choose whether or not you wish to continue with it," McGonagall lectured. "Fundamentals of Sorcery is an introductory class for first year apprentices; you'll move on to a Spell Theory class in your second year."

Hermione's pen moved across her paper at a frantic pace. "What sort of curriculum will we follow in the Fundamentals class?"

They discussed the class briefly - probably more briefly than Hermione would have liked, Harry thought - before McGonagall steered them forward into what she designated the Schools of Magic subset of classes. Though there were apparently more Schools of Magic than Hogwarts had time to teach, they were only offered a choice between four types during their first year of study: Transfiguration, which their teacher not-so-subtly encouraged, Charms & Enchantments, Elemental Magic, and Conjuration & Summoning.

"I think I'll take Transfiguration, Charms, and Conjuration," Hermione hemmed indecisively as she read through her notes on each subject. "Although, Elemental Magic does sound quite interesting - are you certain we can't take all four?"

"Only three, Miss Granger," McGonagall answered bemusedly. "You can add another class in later years, if you desire."

"I'm going to take Elemental Magic, so you can read my notes after class if you want," Harry joked with a grin.

"That would be lovely, Harry, thank you," Hermione beamed. "That makes it ever so much easier to decide."

The girl had an even harder time selecting four elective classes, of which there were eight to choose from. Harry too, was having trouble deciding between The Bestial Bestiary - A Compendium of Magical and Non-Magical Beasts, and Herbology, which had to do with growing and cultivating magical plants. The Bestiary class sounded loads more exciting, but Herbology was a requirement for some of the advanced classes he thought he might want to take in later years.

"You don't have to decide now," their teacher said. "You might sleep on it and see what appeals to you in the morning."

"Yes I think I'll have to," Hermione agreed regretfully. "I can't possibly make a decision right now; they all sound so intriguing."

"Good, that's settled then," McGonagall announced, and packed away her scrolls. "In the nick of time too; I suspect we're nearly there."

Sure enough, the carriage rolled to a stop not ten minutes later, and they all climbed out.

"This can't be the same magic world we were driving through earlier, can it?" Harry asked as he looked up and down the street in confusion. They were standing on a narrow, deserted street in a dark, run-down neighborhood. Muggle buildings dotted the road, though they appeared to be in quite the state of disrepair.

The building directly in front of them was especially seedy looking. It was built of non-descript grey slab stone, and had a small wooden door in the center and two boarded up windows on either side. A dark alley ran alongside it, disappearing into inky darkness.

Mistress McGonagall seemed undeterred, and walked up to the door. "The entrance is through here," she said and ushered them forward.

"What about the horses?" Hermione glanced around uneasily and scurried after their guardian.

"I'll have the innkeeper look after them, not to worry. Inside now; don't dawdle."

"This is an inn?" Harry asked incredulously as he stepped up to the door.

Hermione crashed into him as he stopped in the doorway. "Ow, Harry!"

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, and moved to the side.

Disgruntled, she glared at him. "Oh, never mind just watch where you're going next time," she scolded half-heartedly, and then stopped as she took her first look at the room inside.

Unlike the muggle facade outside, the interior of the building was clean and welcoming, and about five hundred years out of date. A blazing fire in the great hearth along one stone wall filled the room with cheery warmth, and the spits turning over the crackling flames sent tendrils of delicious aroma wafting through the room.

"Have a seat here while I speak with the innkeeper," McGonagall ordered, and ushered them to a round table in the corner by a set of wooden stairs leading upwards.

Several other tables around them were filled with the most fantastic looking people Harry had ever seen - men and women in robes and long dresses the like he'd never seen before, expect in stories and pictures. Wizards and witches, every one of them, Harry thought to himself with a thrill. His heart began to race as his eyes darted around wildly. Even Hermione was speechless as the two students gawped at their surroundings.

"I feel a bit out of place in my sweats," Harry whispered finally to his companion.

Hermione nodded, and murmured, "None of the women are wearing pants, did you notice?"

"Well not a lot of the men are either," he pointed out with a sly grin.

"I'm sure they must be wearing trousers under those robes," Hermione huffed, "And look there, that man has on some sort of - well I suppose you'd call it a tunic, and pants."

Harry took a closer look at the other denizens of the room. Most of the men did indeed have on robes of varying degrees of quality, but the man at the next table over was wearing a long linen shift that was belted at the waste with a leather cord, and a pair of tight leather trousers. The women either had on robes like Mistress McGonagall, or long corseted dresses that dusted the creaky floorboards with their hems.

"I'm going to have to buy a dress, first thing, so I don't stick out. I hope the loan Mistress McGonagall was talking about will cover it."

"I'm sure it will," Harry replied. "She said that we'd have some extra, and anyway they probably don't want us going to Hogwarts looking like muggles. You could always get a robe, instead."

"I'd like to get both, if I have enough. Obviously our school supplies will have to come first," she said seriously. "I'll have to ask which is more culturally appropriate, the dress or the robe, if I can only afford one."

A young serving girl in one of the aforementioned dresses came around with two steaming tankards of frothy dark liquid and set them down at their table. "There ya go, dearies," she announced with a cheerful smile, "some pumpkin juice to get yourselves started, and I'll be back with your dinner in a jig. It's roast buck tonight, or I've a hearty rabbit stew if you'd rather?"

The two students shared a quick look.

"The buck's fine for me, thanks," Harry replied politely. It certainly smelled nice, from where he was sitting.

"For me as well, thank you," Hermione agreed.

The girl bustled away just as Mistress McGonagall came back to join them, carrying her own goblet of plum colored liquid.

"We'll have some dinner and then it's to bed for you both," she declared. "It'll be a long day tomorrow if we're to get you both home before dark."

Harry and Hermione chatted quietly for a few moments while their teacher busied herself in some paperwork, until the serving girl came back carrying three heavily laden platters of fragrant meat. There were also some potatoes and carrots in gravy, which Harry thought was quite good. They ate leisurely, enjoying the buzz and good cheer of the room, until Mistress McGonagall declared it was time to be abed.

Their rooms were on the second floor of the inn, tucked back in a corner well away from the noise and ruckus of the dining room. Their escort had reserved two - one for herself and Hermione, and one for Harry.

"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione called as she followed their teacher into their room. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Hermione," Harry smiled, and shut his door.

The room was comfortably appointed with a fair sized bed and a small wooden bureau to hang up clothes. There was a washstand in one corner, and a pot that was labeled 'toilette'. He was a bit disbelieving at first until he tipped some of the water from the wash basin into the bowl and watched it immediately disappear.

"Wicked," he muttered, and then jumped up onto the bed. He lay amongst the pillows and closed his eyes. For a moment, he pretended he'd imagined it all, and that he was back in his bedroom at the Dursley's on his lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. Grinning, he threw his eyes open and gazed around at all the evidence to the contrary.

"I'm a wizard," he crowed quietly to himself before yawning and burrowing under the warm wool blankets, "a real wizard!"

He fell asleep quickly, happier than he could remember being in quite a long time.

In the morning, McGonagall gave them scarcely enough time to dress and eat breakfast before she herded them off out the door. The sight outside the tavern door was jaw-dropping, and Harry and Hermione probably could have stood there gaping for quite some time excepting that their guide had no time for dawdling. Instead, they craned their necks and eyes and tried to take in every single last detail of the place as they scurried along after her.

The city appeared to be built on several tiers. Just outside the inn - which Harry discovered was called The Leaky Cauldron - the street was paved with wide cobblestones and wound its way between massive slate walls that towered up towards the sky. Atop the walls above them buttresses heaved out into large carved archways that served as bridges and roadways for the higher level. They passed underneath such a structure and Harry pointed out the long purple pennant that was hanging down from its peak, rippling gently in the breeze.

"That flag has to be at least five times as tall as I am, and it doesn't even reach halfway down to the ground," he marveled.

"How long has this city been here?" Hermione queried, wide-eyed. "I can't believe I never noticed it before, something of this size."

"Lionsgate has been here for thousands of years," McGonagall instructed, "and you wouldn't have noticed it unless you came through one of the gateways. It's quite well hidden from the muggle world."

The streets were not at all uniform - they looped around corners and rose and fell gently in small hills. Alleys branched off here and there, and courtyards and terraces sprung up whenever two roads intersected. They were also quite beautiful, especially compared to the stark, sterile design of muggle cities that Harry was used to.

The buildings that lined the streets were each unique; most were built of wood or stone with thatched or shingled roofs, but not two were quite the same size or shape. Towering trees grew up out of their gardens and shaded the courtyards, and bright summer flowers sprung up out of decorative pots and planters along their sides.

Eventually, they passed underneath another massive portico and climbed up a grand staircase carved into its side. The second tier of the city offered them a breathtaking view of the labyrinth they'd just ventured through. The giant walls were laid out like a great wheel, separating the city into several different districts. At their center was a massive castle with towers that soared upwards until their turrets were blanketed by the clouds.

"What is that?" Harry breathed in amazement.

"Lionsgate Castle," McGonagall proclaimed proudly. She allowed them to stop and stare at its majesty for a moment before continuing on at a brisk pace.

"Does someone live there?" Hermione wondered, glancing back over her shoulder. "Can we go inside?"

"Not today Miss Granger; we haven't the time," McGonagall answered firmly as they turned another corner. "And many people do live there - the king, primarily, and his family, and for several years now the regent. Many nobles come to stay at the court, as well."

"There's a king?" cried Harry and Hermione both.

"Well of course there's a king," their teacher repeated, momentarily taken aback. "Heavens, sometimes I forget how much different the muggle world is. They've a queen now, don't they? Well, yes, we have a king, King Francis, but right now there's a regent ruling everything."

"Why is there a regent?" Harry asked. "What happened to the king?"

"Is he primarily just a figurehead, like the muggle queen," Hermione wondered at the same time, "or does he actually run the government?"

McGonagall eyed them sternly. "We haven't the time for a history lesson just now; I'm sure Master Binns would be happy to oblige you when you get to the school. Come along now, we're running behind."

Harry didn't see how they could possibly be late considering it couldn't have been much later than seven-thirty. He wasn't entirely sure of the time; his bedroom hadn't had any clock that he could see, and his wristwatch didn't seem to be working anymore.

They stopped finally in front of Madame Malkin's Tailors & Seamstress, a small wooden building on the corner of a colorfully decorated street, and went inside.

"First order of business is to get some proper attire for you two," McGonagall sniffed as they stood in the doorway. "We can't have you two running along like that any longer - it's unseemly."

"This is one of my best skirts," Hermione whispered into Harry's ear. She sounded a bit miffed.

Harry shrugged. He was looking forward to getting rid of Dudley's old things, so he wasn't all that bothered.

"You'll need these," the Headwitch said as she pulled two small leather pouches out of her pocket. "100 galleons each, but I've already deducted your tuition for the year, so you've 70 left for your supplies and whatever else you need. As I said before you don't need to repay it all until you leave Hogwarts, but I advise you not to put it off. You may find that you need another loan for your second year, and you don't want to find yourself too far into debt when you're about to finish your apprenticeship."

Harry eyed the gold coins inside the bag with awe. He'd never had so much money in his life. Gleefully, he wondered what Uncle Vernon would say if he could see him now.

Hermione took a coin out of her pouch, a troubled look upon her face. "Do you know how much a galleon is worth in pounds? I'd like to have some idea how much I'm spending."

"Muggle money has no value here, remember. They only money you'll need now are Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, and 29 Knuts in a Sickle."

"Is there some sort of bank somewhere?" Hermione pressed hopefully.

McGonagall shook her head. "It's your responsibility to look after your own fortune, Miss Granger. If you lose it or spend it all you may apply for another loan, but you'll be accountable for the entire amount. I advise you to take proper caution."

Harry gripped his pouch tightly. "Is there some sort of spell we can use, to make sure we don't lose the pouches?"

The Scottish witch rewarded him with a proud smile. "Yes, Mr. Potter, it so happens I know just the one. Hold them out, both of you, and I'll charm them for you."

"What can I do for you dears?" Madame Malkin asked cheerfully as they approached the counter, glancing askance at their muggle clothing. "Some new robes, perhaps?"

"Yes please," Harry answered politely. "We're going to Hogwarts this year, so whatever's appropriate for an apprentice."

"Two muggleborns this year, Minerva?" the proprietress wondered aloud as she rang a bell on the counter. "Isn't that more than usual?"

"There are three, actually," the Headwitch corrected, "but Mr. Potter here isn't one of them; I'm just assisting him with his shopping."

"That many?" the seamstress raised an eyebrow. "How extraordinary!"

A young, red-haired witch stepped out through a curtain hiding the back room of the shop from view. "Did you need me to assist you, Madame?"

"Yes, Helda, take Miss - I'm sorry lass, what was your name?"

"Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"That's a lovely name, my dear," the woman continued with an affectionate smile. "Very appropriate I think. Now then, go along to the back with Helda so she can fit you up while I do Mr. Potter."

An hour later, they left the store with their money pouches a bit lighter. Harry's fitting hadn't taken very long at all, and he'd placed his order for three sets of plain brown robes, two everyday cotton tunics, and two pairs of fitted trousers. He'd liked the feel of the robes; he seemed a proper wizard when he inspected himself in the looking glass, but he wasn't quite sure about the pants. They seemed a bit more like stockings, in his opinion.

After taking Harry's measurements and half the payment for his order, Madame Malkin had disappeared into the back to assist Helda, who was taking much longer with her fitting. When the women finally emerged from behind the curtain, Hermione looked a bit ruffled and red-cheeked.

As they were leaving, Harry asked her what had taken so long.

"Had a spot of trouble with the undergarments," the girl flushed. "They're a bit more complicated than I'm used to."

Blushing hotly, Harry let the matter drop.

Madame Malkin had promised to owl their orders by the end of the week, but had offered them each an untailored robe for eight sickles a piece so they wouldn't have to traverse the rest of the city so inappropriately clothed.

They stopped next at a large, open-air market that was set up in a large plaza nearby. A huge oak tree grew up out of its center, and vendors had set their carts and stalls up in the shade of the broad, leafy giant. They called out hawking their wares as potential customers walked by.

"We should be able to find most of your supplies here, at Diagon Market," McGonagall remarked as they passed a man who appeared to be selling a variety of shriveled snakeskins and small animal pelts, and another with baskets full of dried herbs and powdery spices. She handed over their supply lists and gave them leave to browse about at their leisure. "You've an hour and half to get the rest of your things, excepting your wands, luggage and familiars," she instructed firmly. "You'll meet me here by the fountain not a minute later, understood?"

The students nodded and scampered off down the causeway, stopping to shop whenever something caught their eye. They each dutifully bought several reams of parchment paper, an elaborate set of twelve ostrich quills to split between them instead of the less expensive black raven variety, two inkpots a piece and cauldrons, scales, phials, and other various implements for the Potions class they'd both decided to take.

Hermione regretfully doled out seven whole galleons for a brass telescope for Astronomy, but Harry bravely managed to haggle a portly old tanner down from six galleons each for the dragonhide gloves and boots he needed for Herbology to ten galleons for the pair. Hermione bought a lesser expensive pair of stag leather gloves for a few sickles, and then stopped at table that was sagging under the weight of piles of leather-bound books and rolled up scrolls.

"Do you think it's odd we don't need to buy any textbooks?" she asked as she browsed through a thick volume entitled Buhlwick's Librium of Hermetic Thaumaturgy.

"McGonagall said Hogwarts has a pretty large library," Harry answered. "I think we're to go there if we need to research anything for our classes."

"That will be nice, having all those books at our disposal, I suppose," the girl answered wistfully as she sampled another text from the table. "I'd like to have a bit of light reading for the rest of the summer, though. I'm afraid we'll be dreadfully behind all our classmates as it is."

"I don't think that one really qualifies, Hermione," Harry replied and nodded towards the dictionary size book she was hugging to her chest. The Emrys Scrolls - Historie of the Magik Isles didn't really look like any summer reading he wanted to do, no matter how excited he was about being a wizard.

"I only want to be prepared," Hermione scoffed, and gamely stepped forward to barter for her prize.

The lanky, sun-browned merchant grinned at her. "Only sixteen sickles for the pretty witch."

"I'll give you ten," Hermione countered with a spark in her eye.

"Oh come now, it's worth fifteen, surely!" he smiled toothily. "Look at the binding, not a stitch out of place."

"The leather's a bit worn on the back cover. I wouldn't possibly pay more than twelve for it."

"But it's so old, this one, a little wearing is to be expected, and it can be easily reinforced with a little charm here and there. Surely you agree fourteen would be a fair price?"

"Thirteen and you have a deal, sir."

The man chortled happily. "Ah you are a fiery one, little witch. Okay, thirteen sickles and it's yours."

Hermione beamed as they walked away. "You're right Harry - that was exhilarating!"

"I should take you back to the dragonhide seller, maybe you can knock another galleon off my boots," Harry joked cheerfully as they made their way back to the fountain.

Mistress McGonagall was pleased to see them back promptly and swept them out of the market for their next errand. "We'll be Ollivander's for your wands," she explained as she led the way down the next wide alley. "He should be able to finish them by the time we've purchased your luggage and stopped by the Menagerie, but we can nip in for a bit of lunch if he hasn't."

Ollivander's Wands and Staves - Since 382 BC was a dimly lit shop nestled between two shingled wooden cottages. The bell tinkled merrily as they walked through the door, and an extremely short, white haired old man with silver eyes leapt up from the workbench in the corner to greet them.

"Welcome, welcome," he effused warmly. "Come right in, yes, very good. Ah, Minerva McGonagall; is it that time of year again already?"

Mistress McGonagall pinched her lips. She did not appear to be very fond of the strange little man. "Yes, two today if you please, Mr. Ollivander."

"Always in such a hurry," the man admonished jovially. "That elmwood still suiting you well, I take it? A very efficient shaft, that one is."

The witch nodded stiffly and ushered Harry forward. "Mr. Potter first, and then Miss Granger. We'd like to pick them up around lunchtime if you can manage it."

"Certainly, good woman, certainly. Mr. Potter, if you'll just step up to the worktable here... yes just there, that's the ticket," the man instructed energetically as he rooted around through a trunk on the floor. He pulled several long tree branches out of the box and set them up on the table, and then produced a few more from underneath the counter. There were over two dozen different types in all from thick & heavy gnarled ones to thin and polished thin ones.

Eagerly, Hermione leaned forward to watch him work.

"Every wand needs to be custom made; no two people have exactly the same magic, nor should they have exactly the same wand," the man explained. "I'll need you to choose one now, young wizard."

"Choose one?" Harry panicked. "How do I know which one to pick?"

Try them out, of course!" the little man prompted enthusiastically. "Let your magic guide you; go on, give them a bit of a feel."

Doubtfully, Harry picked up the first bit of wood and hefted it lightly. He didn't feel anything except a bit silly, so he put it down. The fifth branch was light and warm in his arm. He considered it for a moment and started to put it down, but stopped.

"I like this one," he decided, and waved it at the shopkeeper.

"Excellent, excellent! Holly is a wonderful choice for a wand, very supple," he chattered, his eyes wide with excitement. He pulled out his own wand and waved it quickly over Harry's brow.

Alarmed, Harry stepped back. "What was that for?"

"Just some tests, dear boy, nothing to worry about. Miss Granger, why don't you have a go, now?"

Her jaw set firmly, Hermione stepped up and studied the lengths of wood. Pacing back and forth before the bar, she considered them all with a steely, determined look in her eye, and finally picked up a very thin, curly piece of vine.

"This one," she announced confidently.

"Ah, the Lindel vine," Ollivander remarked sagely as he performed a spell over her forehead, "how interesting."

"How is it interesting?" Hermione asked quickly. "Do the different woods have different properties?"

"But of course, or else I might as well carve them all out of the common oak!" The man exclaimed avidly. "Vinewoods are extremely attracted to personalities of great depth; they often find themselves in the hands of those who will serve a great purpose in life, or answer to some higher calling. I think we can expect marvelous things from you, young lady."

Hermione glowed, pink-cheeked. "What does Harry's mean?"

"Holly is a wood for our more, shall we say, passionate wizards."

Harry flushed, and the old man chuckled.

"There are many kinds of passion, young man," the man grinned with a twinkle in his eye. "The passion of emotions is what you possess, I'd wager, be they both fair and foul. You may find the holly wand a tempering hand during the very depths or heights of your fervor."

Harry considered his choice again, running his hand over the smooth surface of the wood. He didn't feel very passionate about anything; he was excited about being a wizard, and leaving the Dursley's, but he wasn't sure that was what Mr. Ollivander was talking about.

"Holly is also a match for great warriors, and those who fight fiercely in battle."

"Perhaps you'll be a Gryffindor, after all, Mr. Potter," McGonagall contributed with a wry smile.

"Brilliant," Harry grinned, and gave the branch a wave.

Smiling indulgently, the old wandmaker plucked it out of his hand. "It needs a bit of care first, lad."

"What comes next?" Hermione asked eagerly as she handed over her length of vine.

"Now we will choose the cores," the man replied. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment..."

They waited in the front room while the odd man disappeared up the stairs. He returned presently with an armful of different things - feathers, scales, plant fronds, leathery looking sinews that Harry didn't know what to make of, horns of many different sizes, and a selection of colored gems and stones. He set them all out on the workbench, and then produced several vials of dark liquid from his pocket.

"Right then, have at it, young wizard," he urged when the ingredients were all displayed properly on the table.

"How many do I pick?" Harry asked. The eclectic assortment of items and trinkets seemed a bit more intimidating than the tree branches.

"As many as you like. Go ahead now, don't be shy."

Harry considered the hoard. He steered clear of the bottled liquids; he wasn't sure what they were, but they made him feel a bit creepy. A bright scarlet feather fluttered atop the pile, and he picked it up. It was warm, as though it was still attached to the bird that had given it up.

"What kind of bird did this come from?" he asked as he fingered the soft plume.

"That's a phoenix tail feather; they're very rare."

Confident he'd found what he was looking for, he started to turn away from the heap when a small flash of white caught his eye. Looking closer, he noticed a small, thin tooth resting underneath a peacock feather.

Impulsively, he grabbed that also and handed both items out to the wandmaker.

"That's quite an intriguing combination, Mr. Potter," the man remarked cryptically. "Are you sure?"

For a moment, Harry hesitated. Had he chosen poorly? Would they send him away because he couldn't put together a proper wand? He almost put the tooth back, but as he reached towards the table something made grip the small fang tightly in his palm.

"I'm sure," he replied brassily, and stared confidently into bright silver eyes.

The man grinned eerily. "Very well," he acceded. "Phoenix tail feather and fang of the African red viper - I'll have them set in the casing by midday."

Hermione took her turn at the table of treasures and chose the heartstring of a Chinese Fireball and a small, pearl-size carnelian, which the old man said he would grind into a powder.

The young witch was enraptured by the wandmaking process, and was so determined to learn about all the common combinations and the symbolism behind them that Harry had to forcefully march her out of the shop after Mistress McGonagall.

"We've just our trunks left, and the familiars?" Harry questioned as he hurried after their brisk-paced instructor. "What is a familiar anyway?"

"It's like a pet, Harry," Hermione piped up, "though I suppose witches and wizards might keep something a bit more out of the ordinary than the average housecat."

"I recommend an owl if you plan to carry on much correspondence," McGonagall suggested as they entered a multi-storied stone building that was built right onto the face of one of the massive city ramparts. "I'm quite partial to felines, myself."

They wandered about the shop, marveling at all the different species on offer. There were some cats after all, both of the common and uncommon variety, and also snakes, lizards, rats, toads, and of course, owls. Harry immediately bonded with a majestic snowy white bird and bartered with the shopkeeper until he had secured a plain but sturdy looking owl stand and cage for his new friend. Hermione bought a regal looking slate grey owl with long feathery tufts over its eyes.

"He looks like a bit like a professor, doesn't he?" she commented proudly as she showed him off.

"More like an old wizard, I'd say," Harry countered with a grin.

Hermione smiled brightly. "You're right, of course. I think I'll name him after a wizard; I'll have to consult my book. What are you going to name yours?"

"Maybe I'll look through your book too," Harry shrugged.

They wrapped up the rest of their shopping quickly and before he knew it, they were back in the carriage on their way to Hermione's house. The journey back was decidedly more melancholy than the trip there had been; the muggle world seemed too dull after the wonders of Lionsgate.

"I'll send Oslo with a letter tonight," Hermione promised as she hesitated at her front door.

Harry grinned. "I'll send Hedwig back as soon as I get it."

Smiling brightly, Hermione turned the doorknob. "I'll see you soon, Harry!"

"I can't wait," Harry replied honestly. The next time he saw Hermione, they'd be on their way to Hogwarts, and he was quite glad he would already have a friend to share it with. His fair mood lasted well through the afternoon, and even managed to hold together when Mistress McGonagall bid him farewell at the Dursley's doorstep.

"I'll see you in at the banquet, Mr. Potter," the witch bid as the horses pulled the carriage across the front garden.

He nodded, grinning, and waved until the cart disappeared at the end of the street. She would see him, sooner than he knew it, provided he could survive the rest of the summer with his relatives.

Sighing, he trudged up the door, and went inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

After dinner on the evening of August 18th, Harry waited nervously for the rest of his family to finish their dessert. For the past few weeks, he'd been living in a state of limbo where his aunt and uncle didn't speak to him, and he didn't speak to them. The arrangement had suited him just fine, but he needed to meet Hermione in London the next morning and that meant breaking the fragile truce and asking his uncle for a ride. Waiting until the man had finished a second slice of Aunt Petunia's lavender cake, he figured there wouldn't be a better time and cleared his throat respectfully.

"Yes, what is it, boy?" Vernon barked gruffly as he dotted his napkin across his frosting stained lips.

"I'm supposed to be in London tomorrow morning, Uncle Vernon," Harry started politely, "and I was wonderful if I might come with you on your way to work?"

The large man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you need in London? You get into some sort of trouble?"

Carefully, Harry forged ahead. "I need to leave for my school."

Petunia slammed a serving tray into the sink. Vernon sneered in disgust.

"Fine, but I'm dropping you off near the office. You can get wherever you need to go on our own."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, relieved. He was sure he could manage to get to the Leaky Cauldron so long as he didn't have to worry about his transportation into the city itself.

"I'm leaving at 7:00," his uncle continued. "I won't wait if you're not in the car."

"I'll be ready, I promise."

"And I'm not driving you all the way to that madhouse of a school if you miss your bus or however it is that you're getting there. You can forget about that."

"I won't."

"Good, because we're not taking you back in if you do, you hear me? We're glad to be rid of you."

"Yes, Uncle."

Harry escaped to his bedroom and sighed heavily. He was glad to be rid of the Dursleys as well, but the callous disregard with which they treated his departure swelled a font of insecurity deep within his gut.

Hedwig hooted from atop her perch near the window.

"At least I have you, eh girl?" Harry smiled fondly as he crossed the room to give her a pat. She nipped his ear gently and started grooming his hair.

The owl had been one of his only consolations during his month and a half exile from the magical world. Without Hedwig's company and the steady stream of letters she and Oslo had delivered to and from Hermione, Harry would have been lost in despair. At the beginning of July, the magical world had seemed a tantalizing prize that was just outside his reach.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his friend's owl swooped in through the open window and circled the room lazily.

"Hullo Oslo," Harry cheered as he took the letter the bird had clutched in his talons. It was from Hermione, confirming their plans for the morning. They would meet outside the Leaky Cauldron at nine o'clock.

His foul mood effectively banished, he danced around his room packing up his trunk with glee. After the shopping trip he'd set up all his supplies around his room; parchment and inkpots had lined his desk neatly, his potions equipment was displayed proudly on the middle shelf of his small bookcase, and his robes were hung up in the closet. Although he knew he wouldn't have much cause to use any of his things until the end of the summer, except the parchment he used to write to Hermione, it made him feel less like a muggle to have them where he could see them. Aunt Petunia never came into his room anymore, so he didn't have to worry about her throwing a fit.

The top shelf of his bookcase was lined with a few presents from Hermione. Apparently the girl had kept Oslo quite busy writing to Mistress McGonagall with a bevy of questions, until the woman had finally pointed her in the direction of a bookbindery in Lionsgate that was happy to accept owl orders. For Harry's birthday she'd sent him a package of sweet toffees that she'd gotten on a seaside vacation with her parents, and two books she'd ordered from Ophigenia's Tomes & Scrolls. In her letter she'd said that she was determined he at least be a little bit prepared come the end of the summer.

The first was a heavy volume called Magic of the Wildes which discussed various branches of magic that were practiced throughout the world. A great deal of the material was well over his head, but he found the overview of common magics quite interesting, and had to admit he felt a bit more at ease for his eventual immersion in the magical world.

The second book was thin and written on yellowy paper, and was filled with legends of heroic wizards, and some fairy stories. Harry found them quite a bit more exciting than Cinderella.

Unable to fall right sleep, he skimmed Magic of the Wildes until his eyes grew heavy. In the morning, he was a bit abashed to realize he'd drooled all over the chapter on Mysticism and Illusion, but quickly forgot all about it when he saw the clock. His alarm was still broken, but he'd been waking up early every day ever since he'd returned from his trip with Mistress McGonagall so he hadn't thought to bother with it. Today though, on that day of all days, he'd managed to sleep in an hour later than he'd meant to; it was nearly seven o'clock already.

Racing around the room like the Banshee of Ashcroft - he'd read about her in his book of fables - he gathered up his trunk and apologized to a flustered Hedwig before urging her into her cage and bolting down the stairs. He zipped back up a moment later to grab the plastic grocery bag that contained the set of robes he meant to change into at the inn.

He made it to the driveway with two minutes to spare.

His uncle looked at him sourly and reluctantly let him into the backseat. The ride into London was tense and silent, peppered only by Hedwig's ruffled squawking and Vernon's irate muttering about keeping the ruddy bird quiet. When the man dropped him off on the sidewalk a block away from his office and squealed away without so much as a by your leave, Harry was feeling a bit disgruntled himself.

He watched his uncle peel away with a curious sort of detachment. Growing up he spent many lonely nights lying awake in his room dreaming of running away from the Dursleys forever, but he never imagined it would feel quite so anticlimactic. Vernon's car turned a corner at the next stoplight, and he was gone. It was probably the last time he'd ever see the man, if he managed to make something of himself at school.

Bolstering himself up, Harry took hold of his things. He attracted a few odd looks as he walked down to the corner dragging his old fashioned footlocker behind him and carrying Hedwig's cage under his arm, but he managed to board the next bus headed towards East London without too much trouble. It let him off a few streets away from where he needed to be, and he ably hoofed the rest by foot.

Hermione was waiting on the sidewalk when he finally rambled down the dingy alleyway in front of the inn, her pale-faced parents standing solemnly behind her. She waved enthusiastically when she saw him, and shouted her hellos.

"Harry!" she squealed, "I was starting to worry!"

"It's not nine yet, is it?" Harry asked, surprised. He'd thought he'd been making good time, but he hadn't any way to check after he'd left his uncle's car.

"Only just," the girl admitted, and cooed a fond hello to Hedwig. "I couldn't sleep last night, could you? I was up all night looking through my books; I really wanted to reread that chapter in the Emrys Scrolls on the history of Scottish wizards, since that's where we'll be heading."

"Haven't you read that one three times?"

"So?" she bristled with a huff. "It's interesting, and I thought there might be something I missed about the founding of Hogwarts."

"Did you find anything?"

Abashed, she shook her head. "No, but there was a fascinating section about Aifric Begbie, who did some groundbreaking work in Charms Theory, entirely by accident. Apparently he-"

"You can tell me all about it on the way, Hermione, but shouldn't we get inside?" Harry cut in. If he'd learned anything about the girl during their short friendship, it was that it was best to divert her attention quickly if he didn't want to sit through a lecture about the sixteen uses of black willowwasp pollen, or any other subject that might have taken her fancy. The one time he'd managed to call her on the telephone, when none of his relatives had been home, she'd spent an hour waxing on about the small, fall blooming flower and he hadn't the nerve to stop her.

"Oh yes, you're quite right of course. I'd like to get to the dockside as soon as we can; I'm so anxious to get to the school."

Hermione's father cleared his throat and gathered her up for a hug. "Write to us as soon as you get there," he whispered in her ear, "and remember if you want to come home, we'll figure out a way."

She kissed his cheek and smiled. "I know Dad, but don't be silly, it'll be fine," she assured him. "I've already Harry for a friend, and I'll see you midwinter."

Jean Granger stepped forward and squeezed her daughter tightly. "I love you, Hermione," she said with a watery smile. "Don't forget."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I won't Mum, honestly. I love you too."

Harry turned his back to give them some privacy and nudged Hedwig through the bars of her cage. "I'm glad you're coming with me, girl," he whispered. She was his only family now, even if she was just an owl.

The bird hooted reproachfully, as if she knew what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, girl," he grinned. "You're much more than just an owl."

"Ready, Harry?" Hermione asked after she finished her goodbyes. She stood by the non-descript wooden door that would lead them back into Lionsgate with her trunk in one hand and Oslo's cage in the other.

Smiling broadly, Harry nodded. "Let's go!"

Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron released a knot that had been building in Harry's stomach ever since they'd left earlier that summer. He stopped in the threshold for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of magic swirling in the air. It could also have been the delicious aroma of the meaty stew bubbling over the fire in the corner.

Next to him, Hermione sighed. "It's amazing isn't it," she murmured softly, "how much this feels like home, and how odd it feels back in the muggle world."

Harry nodded. "I feel like I belong here."

"We do, Harry," she replied fervently, with a glint in her eye. "We might not know as much as our classmates, but we do belong here, and if we have to go to the library every day until we're caught up then that's what we'll do."

Laughing, Harry moved into the room. "We haven't even started yet and you're already assigning extra work?"

The girl grinned. "Knowledge is very important," she lectured with a wide smile.

They changed quickly into their robes in the public washroom, and then stepped out into Lionsgate proper. Before they'd ended their shopping excursion with the Deputy Headwitch, she'd given them rough directions to the dockside district where they should be able to book passage onto a ship headed to Scotland. It wouldn't bring them directly to Hogwarts, but someone was bound to be traveling inland from the coast; the route to Hogsmeade, the town nearest Hogwarts, was apparently a fairly prosperous one for traders.

Because they weren't sure exactly how long the journey would take, they'd decided to leave themselves plenty of time for mishap. They were welcome to arrive at Hogwarts anytime in August, but they weren't expected until the Harvest Banquet on the first of September. Hopefully they would be able to spend a few days at the castle before classes began officially, in order to do some settling in and exploring.

Though the docks were on the lowest tier of the city, McGonagall had advised climbing up to the promenade for a better view. "If you find yourself turned about, look for the river and you should be fine."

Following her advice, they managed to find the wharf without too many wrong turns. The river was wide and built up on both sides with long wooden docks, where a bevy of old fashioned sailing ships were moored. A coterie of gnarled sailors in cutoff cloth shorts was loading a collection of crates into the wide wooden hull of the nearest vessel. Most of the men where lugging the cargo up the gangplank on their bare backs, but a robe wearing pair standing on the dock were floating the boxes through the air with their wands.

"Where do you suppose we get a ticket?" Hermione asked nervously as they looked around. Aside from the sailors and a few wealthy looking merchants arguing down the pier, there wasn't much activity.

Most of the buildings along the wide street surrounding the docks were unmarked, but there was a tavern across the way called The Green Mermaid.

"Why don't we ask in there?" Harry suggested. "Someone is bound to know."

"Right," she answered, and marched stiffly across a low stone bridge to the other side of the river.

The inside of the tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of soured ale. It was packed full of men, most of whom appeared to be quite well into their cups, though it was still very early in the morning. A group of rowdy sailors in the corner were singing sea songs at the top of their voices, and banging their tankards together at the end of each verse.

Despite the bawdy atmosphere, Harry grinned. He felt like he'd walked into a chapter of Treasure Island, except that this story had magic, and wasn't really a story at all.

"Aye, what can I do for ye?" the grisly, grey-bearded barman asked as they approached the bar. "Look a bit young t'be wanting anything 'ere."

"We're wondering if you can tell us where we'll find a ship sailing to Inverness," Hermione ventured bravely. "We're going up to Hogwarts."

"Oh, are ye?" the man answered, sounding fairly impressed. He set down the rag he'd been using to wipe the counter. "Me lads never went, but me youngest lass, she's had a letter."

Brightening, Hermione smiled. "Is she going this year, then? Perhaps we'll be in the same class."

The man nodded. "Aye, sent her off just last week we did. You'll want to speak t'Dermot over there; he's got a ship leaving in the morning, so far as I heard."

"Thank you very much, sir," Harry replied gratefully. "What's your daughter's name?"

"Tracy," the man replied, "and ye needn't call me sir, just Tom'll do."

They crossed the room to the indicated table and struggled to make themselves heard over a boisterous bunch of sailors swearing over a handful of dice.

"Excuse me," Hermione shouted, as politely as she could manage. "We're looking for Mr. Dermot."

A thickly muscled black man with shining dark eyes laughed loudly. "Mr. Dermot," he roared, and slugged the fair-haired man slumped next to him. "Somebody to see you, your lordship."

The blond man snorted and squinted at them; he'd been taking a bit of a snooze over his mug of beer. "Wassat?"

"Dermot, wake up you loathsome lug," the dark man bellowed, and gave his neighbor a shake. "You've some visitors."

Dermot took a swig of his ale and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. "Eh? What do you want, kiddies?"

"Er, well we heard you're sailing to Inverness," Harry began cautiously, "and we'd like to book a passage."

"Twenty sickles a piece or two galleons if you'll be wanting private cabins. We leave at dawn tomorrow."

They handed over the coins and stood there nervously. "Do we need a ticket, or anything?" Hermione asked hesitantly, when no more instructions were forthcoming.

"I'll remember," the captain slurred. "Just don't be late, or I'll sail without you. Oh, and you'll need your own provisions; I aint gonna feed ya."

After taking another long swallow of his beer, the drunken seaman pillowed his head on his arms, and started to snore.

"Er, do you know which ship is his, by chance?" Harry asked the rest of the table.

"The Scarlet Dragon," the dark man replied, his white teeth glittering in the dimly lit room. "Look for the red pennants."

They left quickly, and after stopping to buy some thick loaves of bread and cold meatrolls for the trip, made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron to reserve a couple of rooms for the night. As they walked, they noticed other inns closer to the docks, but they liked the atmosphere at the Leaky and knew they'd be safe and comfortable enough for the night.

Harry hefted his money pouch as he counted out the ten sickles for his board. It was steadily getting lighter, and he hadn't even started the school year yet. Mistress McGonagall had seemed sure that the 70 galleons they'd started out with after their tuition fees would be more than plenty, but he would have to start managing it carefully if he wanted that to be true. Hopefully he wouldn't have too many new expenses once they arrived at Hogwarts, and with any luck he'd be able to find a job to replenish his funds and start chiseling away at his debt.

Hermione, too, made comment about her diminishing wealth. She'd spent the sum of several galleons extending her personal library over the summer, and was eager to earn it all back somehow.

Since it was not yet midday, they dropped their luggage in their rooms, let the owls out for some air and went back outside to explore. Not keen to be tempted into spending any more money, they stayed away from the markets and walked along the upper galleries of the city. It was a beautiful summer day, and they reveled in their freedom. No one seemed to think there was anything odd about two eleven year olds wandering about by themselves - in fact, they stopped for a while and watched a group of even younger children run around unsupervised playing a game with hoops and sticks.

In the morning, they were up and at the docks well before sunrise, eager to be on time for the captain of the ship. They were also a bit concerned that the man might've indulged a bit too heavily in his drink, and wanted to make sure there was no trouble getting aboard.

They needed haven't worried. Just as they were walking up to the medieval style carrack berthed along the second pier, Dermot appeared out The Green Mermaid with bright eyes and a skip in his step. He was whistling cheerfully as he flagged them down.

"Just in time, kiddies," the man called jovially. He seemed a great deal more pleasant now that he'd sobered up a bit. "Hand your luggage off to Kingsley, here, and climb aboard. You can let your owls out once you're up top, if you like. They like to perch on the yards."

The black man from the tavern grinned at them, his smile impossibly wide across his face. "Up you go, kids."

They clambered up the gangplank and stepped onto the ship. Seamen swaggered to and fro, checking ropes and rolling up spare sails. A brightly robed man monkeyed up the center mast and called forth a small wind funnel with a twist of his hand. He aimed it forward, and the sail billowed majestically above them.

"What kind of magic is that, I wonder?" Hermione exclaimed as she gazed upwards.

"That's our elementalist, Black Pete," Kingsley boomed from behind them. "Our secret weapon, in case the winds give out."

Harry gaped as the man hefted their two trunks up over his shoulder without so much as a flinch.

"Feather light charm," the man winked. "Public cabins are down below; you'd best claim your bunks before they fill up, or you'll be sleeping up here on the deck with the crew."

They made their way down into the belly of the ship. Harry was thrilled and imagined he was a pirate as he swaggered through the narrow corridors, until Hermione starting eyeing him oddly.

There were several other people traveling aboard the ship aside from the captain and his crew, though Hermione was one of only three females. Whilst Harry had to bunk up with a dozen or so other wizards, she had a comfortable amount of room in the cabin set aside for the women. She disappeared inside for three quarters of an hour while Harry explored the deck; when she finally rejoined him she'd exchanged her robes for one of the peasant-style dresses she'd purchased from Madame Malkin. It was made of long, uncolored linen with honey colored leather laces up the back.

"I was bit a bit warm in the robe," she explained. "I thought I'd be able to feel the sea breeze better in this."

"It looks nice," he replied. He hadn't seen her wear it before. "You look like Maid Marian."

She smiled. "We'd make quite the pair if you'd put on those stockings you bought," she teased amiably. "You could be Robin of Loxley."

"He was a real man, you know - a wizard," Harry remembered suddenly. "He was in that book you sent me, the one about old legends and magical heroes and the like."

A spot of pink tinged her cheeks. "I did read it before I sent it to you, actually."

They watch quietly for a while as the ship started to drift slowly down the river, and eventually out into the sea. The wind was good, and Black Pete the elementalist was lounging at his post, sending only tiny puffs of air towards the main sails.

"Do you think it's a bit odd it takes them so long to get anywhere, even though they have magic?" Hermione wondered, breaking their peaceful silence.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. It certainly would have been a lot faster to drive."

The girl nodded. "My parents probably would have been thrilled to take us up to Scotland. I'm sure they would've preferred it actually; I think they really didn't want me to go."

"I wouldn't have wanted to miss this, though," Harry admitted as he gazed out at the sun rising over the horizon.

"No, you're right, of course. It's important to get the full experience," she agreed seriously. Then, she smiled mischievously. "And this is a lot more fun, anyway."

The days were long on the ship, with nowhere to go and nothing to do but stare out at the vast, trackless sea before them. For the most part, they hugged the coast, but they were far enough out into the Black Sea that it was just a smudge to their left.

The first afternoon after they set sail they spent standing timidly alongside the deck rails, trying not to get in the way. They ate their dinner quietly in the corridor outside Hermione's cabin, and bid each other an early goodnight.

In the morning, Harry found himself roused by the choppy swaying of the ship. Yawning, he dressed quietly so as not to wake his cabinmates and climbed up to the sea deck. It was still very early in the morning - the sun was only just peeking over the horizon - but the crew was awake and cheerfully going about their business.

"Hey, lad, how'd you like to learn to sail?" Kingsley called to him in a deep voice. He was standing up by the ornately carved ship's wheel on the captain's deck, winding a thick length of rope around his forearm.

Startled, Harry looked around, but there was no one else above deck. "Me?" he asked doubtfully.

The man gave him a broad smile. "Why not? You look like you could use something to do."

"Alright, then."

For an hour, the sailor led him around the top of the deck teaching him the proper names for all the different parts of the ship, and showing him how to work the sails and the riggings. It turned out that he was the captain's First Mate, and not nearly as intimidating once Harry spent a little time in his company.

"You're a natural at that, lad," the man remarked as Harry practice tying knots in a spare bit of rope.

"Thanks," Harry replied with a grin, just as his stomach rumbled.

Kingsley laughed. "Forget breakfast this morning, did you? Fancy having a look at the captain's cabin? I've got to wake the captain, and then I could do with a bite myself."

"Sure," Harry nodded eagerly and leapt off his perch.

Captain Dermot was still snoozing when they went down below. Kingsley stuck his head in the large room and hollered loudly, then ducked quickly as a brass pot flew out into the corridor.

Chuckling, he led Harry down to his own quarters, which were a lot nicer than the cabin Harry had been assigned. A porthole window let in some natural light, and made the space seem less stuffy than his own bunk. There was a large bed bolted to the floor along the wall, and a small writing desk on the other side. A table in the middle of the room was set for breakfast, though there was only one place.

Taking out his wand, Kingsley conjured another plate and dished Harry some eggs and fruit.

"Have a seat," he gestured, and tucked in to his own meal.

They ate in silence for a while, and Harry eagerly inspected the room. There lots of interesting trinkets and treasures lining the shelves above the desk and he wondered at all the amazing places the sailor must have visited.

"So, Harry, what brings you and your sister up to Scotland?"

"Hermione isn't my sister," Harry corrected around a mouthful of eggs.

"Oh?" the man grinned widely, a spark of mirth dancing in his eyes. "You seem a bit young to be travelling alone with a lady friend; not trying to elope, are you?"

Harry flushed. "We're just on our way to Hogwarts."

Raising an eyebrow, Kingsley sat back in his chair. "The school? Impressive; you must have a fair bit of magic about you," he observed thoughtfully. "And here I was hoping to convince you to sign on as cabin boy."

Excited, Harry leaned forward. "Really? Me?"

"You're a natural up on deck, and we've sorely needed one since the last lad left us."

For a brief moment, Harry was torn. He knew, of course, that he had to go to school, but the offer was still tempting. Kingsley's life on the ship had sounded incredibly adventurous, especially to an eleven year old boy.

"If you ever get tired of books and homework, come and find me," the man grinned. "We'll not turn you away, and we've a few men here who can teach you all you need to know about the magic of the seas."

Promising to do just that if things at Hogwarts ever went sour, Harry excused himself and left to find Hermione.

They spent the next four days at sea, and even though he was no longer actively trying to recruit him, Kingsley still let Harry hang around with the crew whenever he liked. The man was a brilliant storyteller, which Hermione also enjoyed, and when they finally tacked into harbor at their destination, the two students were very sorry to say goodbye.

Inverness was a bustling port city. It was large and impressive, though nowhere near as grand as Lionsgate, and the docks were frantic with activity. Three large ships were already moored in the port when they arrived, and colorfully dressed merchants scurried across the plaza, checking their goods and consulting with their crews.

"Kingsley said to look there, at the Crup's Slippers," Harry mentioned as they disembarked and waved their new friends farewell. "He said it's a popular spot for traders."

Emboldened by their success in making it that far, Hermione nodded and wasted no time navigating the packed shipyard. The pub was noticeably cleaner than the Mermaid, but unfortunately its proprietor wasn't nearly as accommodating. A harassed looking middle aged man with thinning brown hair, he shooed them away when they approached, and simpered sickeningly to the richly appointed merchants sitting at the bar.

"The nerve of that man," Hermione glowered crossly as they sat outside the door on a low stone bench. "What should we do now?"

By his estimation, it was now the 24th of August, so there were still a few days before they needed to panic. "We could wait a bit and try again."

"I'm just so eager to get to Hogwarts," Hermione complained wistfully. "I mean, this is all fascinating as well, but I can't wait to start learning how to use my wand."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly how she felt. He was having the time of his life, but he wouldn't be disappointed in the least when their little summer adventure ended and they started classes. Of course, it wouldn't really be over. He had the feeling that the entirety of the rest of his life was going to be one magnificent adventure, just waiting to be had.

The tavern door banged open and a portly man in violet robes stormed out, muttering angrily to himself.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry leapt up and flagged him down, "you wouldn't happen to be traveling to Hogsmeade, would you?"

Startled, the man blinked at him. "What's that now? Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, sir. We're trying to get to Hogwarts."

"Sorry lad, I'm headed south. Good luck to you." The fellow tipped his cap, which had a long blue feather pinned under its brim, and continued on his way.

"It was worth a shot, Harry," Hermione commiserated as he sat back down dejectedly.

After two hours accosting every likely looking prospect that crossed their paths, they were both feeling a bit defeated, and Hermione was starting to panic. They'd asked everyone coming or going from the tavern, but no one seemed to be going in their direction. Harry started wandering up and down the pier, but he had no more success there and he couldn't find Kingsley or any of the other sailors they'd rode in with to ask them for advice.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" Hermione asked frantically as he slumped onto the bench in a heap. "We'll never get there at this rate."

When Mistress McGonagall had advised them how to get to Hogwarts, she'd made it sound so easy, and so far, it had been. Sail up to Scotland and then hitch a ride from someone traveling inland. Harry hadn't questioned her instructions at the time, but it occurred to him now that if he ever tried to do anything like that in the muggle world, he'd probably end up in pieces somewhere. It also occurred to him, just then, how far away he was from the only home he'd ever known, even if it hadn't been much of one at that. The only person he really knew in the magical world - besides Hermione, who was looking just as hopeless as he was - was the Deputy Headwitch, and he didn't think appealing to her for rescue a second time would really raise him in her good graces.

"Maybe we should just get a room for the night," Harry suggested hopelessly. It was only just midday, but the evening was looking pretty bleak from where he was sitting. "There's still a week until we need to be there; maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right," Hermione agreed desolately. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Have you seen an inn anywhere?"

"I'll ask someone; wait here."

Harry left her at the bench and walked up to a group of men congregating at the end of the dock.

"Excuse me," he interrupted respectfully, "could you please tell me how to find the nearest inn?"

A dumpy, bald-headed man stepped away from his compatriots. "I'm headed up to the Silver Sickle now to gather up my kit; you can come along with me if you like."

"Thank you sir," Harry replied gratefully. "I just need to get my friend."

He ran back to get Hermione, and they followed the merchant away from the wharf as they made their introductions.

"I'm Kenrick," the man told them cheerfully, "Kenrick the fish merchant."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," Hermione replied amiably. She seemed more at ease now that they were in the company of an adult. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"I'm Harry," Harry added. "Harry Potter."

"Pleasure to meet you both," the man acknowledged affably, and set a brisk pace up the next street. "What brings you two to Inverness?"

"We're headed to Hogwarts," Harry replied. "We were looking for a ride to Hogsmeade, but we haven't had any luck so we thought we'd better get a room for the night."

"You don't say!" the man exclaimed with a kindly chuckle. "Just so happens I'm headed in that direction myself."

"Oh please, sir," Hermione beseeched earnestly, with wide, pleading eyes. "Might we ride with you? We can pay, of course."

Kenrick chortled again. "I couldn't say no to a face like that, lass. Fifteen knuts a piece and the seats are yours."

Praising their good fortune, they speedily handed over the bronze coins. The price seemed more than fair considering what they'd spent on their travels already, and they thought the merchant must've been taking pity on them until they tried to wedge themselves onto the back of his wagon. It was packed full with barrels of iced fish, and barely had room to spare.

Harry clambered up and held out a hand to help Hermione. After a bit of jostling, they managed to clear enough space that they could rest with their backs against the barrels and hang their legs off the back end of the wagon. It wasn't ideal, but it would get them where they needed to go, so they didn't complain.

Kenrick took out a wand and waved it over his cargo in a complicated pattern. "Just ensuring the ice won't melt," he explained when he saw Harry watching curiously. "My father taught me that one; handiest spell I know, in my business!"

Harry was beginning to learn that not every witch or wizard was accepted at Hogwarts. In fact, it seemed only a very small percent of the magical folk of the world received any formal education; most of the men and women they'd met had been taught by their parents at home, or by the men and women they went to work for in trade. He considered himself doubly lucky for making it into the prestigious academy, especially since he hadn't even known it existed.

The road to Hogsmeade was bumpy, and the horse cart traversed it slowly. By the time they reached their destination, their bottoms were sore and their patience thin. Thanking Kenrick as considerately as they could, they waved as he rumbled off further into the town.

Hogsmeade seemed the epitome of a rustic, medieval village. Consisting solely of large stone structures built haphazardly around a hill-strewn dale by the mouth of a winding blue river, it had no formal streets or roadways, only the natural space left between buildings. There was a grassy knoll in the middle of the town that looked to be a central square of sorts, with a small stone fountain atop its summit.

They arrived during the throes of the sleepy after-dinner hour. In the distance, the sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon, and along the makeshift road in the village, torches were being lit to aid those traveling home for the night.

As they climbed a small hill to get a better look at the sunset over the beautiful Scottish countryside, Hermione gasped and seized Harry's arm.

"Harry, look!" she cried, pointing ecstatically.

Nestled amongst the mountains on the other side of the village were the majestic towers and ramparts of what could only be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With the backdrop of the scarlet red sun and blue tipped peaks above it, the castle was a glorious sight.

They waited a moment in silence for the first look at their new home to sink in, and then turned to each other, grinning excitedly.

"Shall we just walk up?" Harry suggested, still smarting from the lurching wagon. "It can't be that far."

"Let's," Hermione agreed enthusiastically. "I want plenty of time to take it all in; I might miss something otherwise."

The walk took about a half hour. A dirt road starting from the other side of Hogsmeade wound lazily through the valley and then up the hill towards the towering gates of the school.

The grounds of the castle were just as impressive as the surrounding countryside. The structure itself perched atop a sheer, steep cliff that rose up out of a great, black lake. The shore of the water below it curved around the lower parts of the grounds, and stretched out through valley until it disappeared over the horizon between the green covered bluffs of two tall mountains. At the edge of the lake, a dense, dark forest sprawled thickly across the land, far as the eye could see, until high peaks rose up behind it, leagues away in the distance.

As they drew closer to the enormous front entrance, Harry grinned. Finally, after the torturously long summer days at the Dursleys and their last week of adventure and excitement over the hills and seas, they had arrived.

Boldly, he picked up his pace. "Come on, Hermione," he urged, laughing, as he jogged the rest of the way up the grounds, "what are you waiting for?"

Grinning, she raced after him, her trunk bouncing along erratically behind her, and they reached the large oak doors of the castle breathless and giddy.

A tall boy with shoulder length brown hair watched them bemusedly as they toppled onto the steps. He'd been perched on the ledge of an arched palisade reading a thin book, but jumped up and offered Hermione his hand in getting up.

"You're new, I take it?" he asked in a wry tone.

"How could you tell?" Harry grinned as he dusted off his robes.

"Nobody I know is that excited to start doing lines and homework."

"Hermione most definitely is," Harry replied with a straight face.

The girl swatted his arm playfully. "Harry!"

The boy chuckled and reached out to shake Harry's hand. "I'm Roger," he greeted. "You'll probably want to go right up to the Headwizard's office to get yourselves sorted and set up with a dormitory."

"Brilliant," Harry replied. The sorting was something he'd been looking forward to, though not without a bit of nervous anticipation. He was anxious to find out where he'd belong for the next few years. "I'm Harry, by the way, and this is Hermione."

Roger bowed to Hermione politely. "Pleased to meet you both."

Blushing, Hermione nodded. "You as well."

"Mind showing us the way?" Harry asked. He was sure they could wander around in the castle for a month without finding Albus Dumbledore, if left on their own. The fortress seemed even larger when standing in the shadow of the massive front doors.

"Sure, follow me. You can let your owls out though; they look a bit peaky. They'll find their way up to the owlery there," the boy suggested and indicated one of the towers above them.

The huge doors swung open as they approached. It was a very good thing - from their size, it looked like a force of ten grown men would have trouble pushing them open, let alone three young apprentices. The entrance hall was grander than anything Harry had ever seen. There was a large stone staircase directly ahead, and carved archways along the sides of the room that led to several finely decorated small chambers. A larger, more ornately carved set of doors stood open at the left, displaying what must've been the banquet hall.

Roger led them up the stairs and through the corridors, pausing patiently while Harry and Hermione stopped and stuttered at the various oddities they met along the way. Twice, a suit of armor saluted rigidly as they passed, and all along the way the people painted into the portraits on the wall waved and whistled cheekily after them. They walked through hidden doorways and secret passages, and up staircases that changed direction halfway up the steps, until finally they stopped outside a niche in the wall that housed an intricately carved stone gargoyle.

"I've brought some new apprentices to see the Headwizard," Roger told the beast, as if talking to a statue was the most normal thing in the world.

Hermione jumped when the stones started grinding and the winged creature stepped out of the way, revealing a curved set of steps leading upwards.

"Go on up," Roger gestured with a wide smile, "and good luck. Hope to see you in Ravenclaw!"

"Thanks Roger," Harry answered, and waved at the boy as he trotted off down the hall.

Hermione seized his arm, her nails digging tightly into his skin, and they cautiously made their way up to the wooden door at the top of the stairs.

"Enter!" a pleasant voice called. The door swung open.

Sitting at an ornately carved wooden desk was the most wizardly wizard Harry could imagine. He was very old, with silver hair and a long white beard and half-moon spectacles perched atop his long nose. The robes he wore were plain, but finely crafted, and matched the pointed hat atop his head. He was busy scrawling delicately across a sheet of parchment, but stopped and looked up as they stepped into the room. Blue eyes twinkled merrily at them, and his wrinkled mouth turned upwards into a soft smile.

"Welcome, new apprentices," he remarked genially as he stood. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headwizard of Hogwarts - and who might you be?"

Swallowing his nerves, Harry stepped forward. "I'm Harry," he replied bravely. "Harry Potter."

"And I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione squeaked. She looked very tense.

"One of our muggleborns," the old wizard nodded sagely. "Tell me, how did you find your journey?"

"Very well, sir, thank you," she replied.

"Good, good. And you, Mr. Potter? I trust everything is well, now?" the Headwizard continued courteously. "I was quite surprised when Mistress McGonagall informed me she'd found you living amongst the muggles."

"Not anymore, sir," Harry affirmed fiercely. "I'm a wizard now; I won't be going back there."

The old man smiled gently. "You were always a wizard, Harry, since the day you were born."

"Well now that I know it, then."

"Very good," Dumbledore commented. He seemed pleased. He waved a hand and two sturdy wooden chairs popped into existence in front of his desk. "Have a seat."

Obediently, they did so. Harry tried not to fidget, but being in the presence of such a grand sorcerer made him uneasy. At least if he was found lacking, he could go be a sailor with Kingsley.

Beside him, Hermione was very white.

The wizard consulted a scroll on his desk and hummed thoughtfully. Surprise flickered momentarily in his blue eyes, but then was gone, replaced by a calm, pleasant expression.

"I see you've both received a loan of one hundred galleons from the school," he noted. He plucked a scarlet quill out of the inkpot on his desk and scratched a mark on the parchment. "You understand the terms?"

"Mistress McGonagall said that we'd have until the end of our schooling to pay it back," Harry answered. "We'll try to find some work so we can start right away."

Dumbledore nodded. "You might try in Hogsmeade if you're unable to find any work around the castle. Some of your Masters do hire the occasional apprentice for odd jobs, but the older students may have already laid claim to those positions."

"Thank you, sir, we will." Hermione replied gratefully.

"I trust you've both turned in your class selections to the Deputy Headwitch?"

"Yes, sir."

"Marvelous. You'll have to schedule a meeting with your Head of House before the banquet to receive your schedules. That brings us to the most important matter, I think," the man twinkled mysteriously. "Shall we get on to the sorting?"

Anxiously, Harry nodded. Desperately, he uttered one last secret wish that would be in Gryffindor like his parents.

Dumbledore reached up onto the top shelf of a bookcase behind his desk and pulled down a ratty old wizard's hat with a tear in its brim. Dusting it off gently, he said, "Ladies first, then, I think."

Hermione paled even further, but stood with a determined look in her eye. "I'm ready."

The old wizard smiled and placed the hat atop her head. It twitched, and then started to talk.

"Another one, eh?" it grumbled as it flexed its brim. "Can't get a moment's peace around here, can I? Well, let's get it over with then, shall we?"

Hermione tensed under the scrutiny, but remained still.

Harry watched, transfixed, as the hat hemmed and hawed above her. Finally, it opened its mouth again and in a loud voice shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Color flooded back into the girl's face as she breathed a sigh of relief. "That isn't at all what I was expecting," she gushed rapidly as she handed the talking cap back to the Headwizard. "The hat, I mean - I was hoping for Gryffindor. I didn't think it would be so easy to get in."

"I'm sure you'll be a credit to your house, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied graciously.

Then, it was Harry's turn. He was much more relaxed after watching Hermione go first, but he was still nervous about being sorted into the house he wanted. Now, he not only wanted to be in Gryffindor because of his parents, but he also wanted to be in the same house as his friend.

Bracing himself, he waited as the hat fell down over his eyes, but he wasn't prepared for the small voice that sounded in his ear.

"Well, what have we got here?" the hat mused silently. "There's a fair bit going on up in this head of yours, Potter - plenty of courage and a fair bit of backbone, but I'm also sensing a great hunger to belong, and a thirst to prove yourself. Curious chap, too, aren't you?"

Harry concentrated on thinking about how much he wanted to be in Gryffindor.

The hat chuckled. "Of course you do; young men must be brave, after all. Since you're sure, though, I think I'll put you in..."

Aloud, the hat boomed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione squealed and tackled him in a fierce hug. "I'm so glad we're in the same house, Harry! I was so nervous watching you!"

Harry grinned and took off the hat.

"Well done, both of you," the Headwizard remarked genially and tucked the hat back up on its shelf. "You'll find the Gryffindor dormitories in the tower off the sixth floor left wing corridor. Think you can manage?"

Elated, Harry assured him they could.

"Good, now one last thing before I send you off - you are free to come and go as you please, but the castle gates are locked after eleven o'clock. If you find yourself outside the grounds after that time, you'll have to make do in Hogsmeade until morning."

"Yes, sir," Harry and Hermione answered dutifully.

"Excellent," Dumbledore clapped his hands together jovially. "Off you go, then. Oh, and send up the lad at the bottom of the stairs, would you?"

They clambered back down the staircase, chattering excitedly. Hermione was just as thrilled as he was to be in Gryffindor.

There was a dark-haired boy waiting in the corridor when they came out, glaring at the gargoyle with a scowl on his face.

"Oi, how'd you get him to let you up?" he asked, irritation coloring his voice. "I've been trying for twenty minutes!"

"An older student helped us," Hermione answered, "but the Headwizard is expecting you now; he said to send you up."

"Cheers, then," he answered, and waved as he started climbing. He turned back quickly, though, and added, "Oh, what house did you get? You're first years too, aren't you?"

"Yea," Harry replied, still grinning. "We got Gryffindor."

The boy grimaced. "Oh, well. I'm hoping for Slytherin. I heard their dormitories are underneath the lake."

"That's brilliant," Harry replied sincerely. "Ours are up in a tower."

"I'm Terry, by the way." The boy came back out into the hall and shook their hands.

"Nice to meet you," Hermione answered. "I'm Hermione, and this is Harry."

"Well, I better not keep him waiting," Terry commented, and restarted his climb. "See you two around the castle."

They waved and went on their way. Briefly, they considered waiting in case Terry ended up joining them in Gryffindor, but they didn't think it very likely. He seemed set on Slytherin, and from their experience with the hat, they thought it was probably take that into consideration. After a few wrong turns and false starts, they managed to find themselves hopelessly lost.

"We have to get used to finding our way around, Harry," Hermione lectured as they retraced their steps from yet another dead end. "This is going to be our home for a long time."

"Can you believe we're living in a castle?" Harry stopped, and peered down a dark corridor that had sprung up to their right. "This wasn't here before was it?"

Hermione stopped and considered the shadowy passage. "I don't think so. In fact, I'm certain there was a painting of a shepherdess tending a flock of sheep hanging there just a moment ago."

"We should check it out," Harry urged, excitement coloring his voice.

"Harry!" Hermione chided. "We need to find Gryffindor Tower and check in with our Head of House, not run off on some crazy adventure through the castle. Not to mention I'm getting a little tired of lugging this trunk around everywhere."

"But we're lost anyway, Hermione," Harry argued. "This might end up being the way we're supposed to go. Maybe that shepherdess is trying to help us."

"Oh fine, but if we end up trapped in a dungeon somewhere, you're going to explain it to the Headwizard when he has to come rescue us."

They didn't end up stuck in a dungeon, but they did find the kitchens and an underground cavern that led to some rickety docks built into the edge of the black lake. By the time they made their way back up to the entrance hall and counted carefully as they walked up six staircases, they were exhausted.

Somehow, mostly by luck, they made it to the left wing and found a door with a familiar looking crest carved into the wood.

"There, Hermione!" Harry shouted. "I remember that sign from the book McGonagall gave us. See the lion? That's the crest of Gryffindor."

"Finally!" Hermione groaned.

Standing in front of the door, Harry grinned. "Ready?"

"Oh go on, I'm too tired to wait any longer."

He felt a tingle as he crossed the threshold into the tower, and he didn't think it was just excitement. Hermione noticed it too.

"Maybe it's checking to see if we're Gryffindors or not," she mused thoughtfully. "I wonder how it knows to distinguish us from the other houses."

"Magic, maybe?" Harry teased slyly, and was reward with a swat.

The entrance door led to a cozy common room at the base of the tower. There was a large fireplace along one side, and a recessed alcove where two sets of stairs spiraled upwards. Scarlet red banners with the Gryffindor crest covered the walls by two tower windows, and a giant tapestry of a thick-maned lion hung over the hearth. A few sturdy oak tables were set up in the center of the room, as well as several upholstered wooden benches and chairs, and a small cushioned sofa that faced the crackling fire.

The room was empty, but some books and parchments strewn about one table hinted that someone had left for a quick moment, and was planning to come back.

A small door along one curve of the wall was propped ajar, revealing a small office and a familiar face.

"Mistress McGonagall!" Hermione hailed happily as they knocked at the door. "Are you our Head of House?"

The witch looked up from her desk and smiled fondly. "I am, Miss Granger," she acknowledged. "I'm delighted to see you both in Gryffindor."

"We're thrilled too," Harry added, smiling. He was glad McGonagall was going to be their Head; he quite liked her. "We're here to get our dormitory assignments."

Pulling out a leather bound ledger from her desk drawer, McGonagall flipped to a page near the middle and scratched their names down at the top of the page.

"The first dormitory for new female apprentices is full, Miss Granger," the woman noted, and adjusted her spectacles, "so you may have first choice of the beds in your room until your roommates arrive. Take the right side staircase up to the ninth floor, third door on the left."

"Thank you, ma'am," Hermione responded.

"Mr. Potter," the head of house continued, and consulted her lists. "Left staircase, eleventh floor, last door on the right. One of your roommates has already arrived."

"Brilliant," Harry acknowledged. Hopefully the room had a window; there was bound to be an amazing view that high up in the tower.

"Boys are not allowed in the girls' wing - no exceptions - and girls are not to enter the boys' dormitories without a chaperone." McGonagall took her glasses off and eyed Hermione sternly. "If you absolutely must visit Mr. Potter in his room, you will ask one of the older students to accompany you."

"Yes, ma'am," they replied dutifully.

"Good." She sat back and put her glasses back on. "There are small study rooms located on each level of the tower, in both wings. You may also use the common room on this level to congregate as you desire."

They nodded, and each made an appointment for the following afternoon to receive their schedule of classes, and then headed off for bed. At the bottom of the two staircases, they stopped to say goodnight.

"Let's meet in the morning for breakfast," Hermione urged, and impulsively reached over to give him a tight hug. "We can do some exploring afterwards; perhaps we can find the library."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "That would be your first priority, wouldn't it?"

She scowled playfully, and disappeared up the stairs. Harry took one last look around the common room, and smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to begin his first full day as an official apprentice of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So far things had turned out pretty well, and he had the idea that they were just going to get better.

With that thought in mind he turned and climbed the stairs, ready to meet his new roommate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Yawning, Harry blinked sleepily and rolled over. Bright morning sun was streaming in through one of the open tower windows, as well as a chilly mountain breeze. He drew his thick woven coverlet tighter around his body and wondered if he should have chosen a bed on the other side of the dormitory.

He hadn't been able to see much of the room the night before, aside from dark shadowy shapes, because it had been dark outside by the time he and Hermione had managed to get up to bed, and he couldn't find any lights in the room. Thankfully, the moon shining in the window let in enough light for him to choose a bed, but he'd left all his things in his trunk on the floor.

One of the other beds had been taken, judging from the snoring coming from its general direction, so he'd chosen the one next to it. They were the only two in the room that were near the windows - there were five beds altogether - and he thought he might like to look out at the mountains when he woke up in the mornings. It was a pretty stunning view, but he might need to start wearing every set of robes he owned just to sleep in if he wanted to survive the winter.

Excited to inspect the rest of his new quarters, he hung up the thick red curtains of his four poster and peeked out. The room was larger than it had any right to be, especially since it was one of three on that level of the tower. It was completely round, and had two open windows along the curved wall behind Harry's bed. The other three beds were on the opposite side of the room. There was a small, unlit hearth between the two sides of the room, and a single armoire that looked to be for common use. A few frayed tapestries decorated the walls, and a thick fur rug warmed the floor in front of the fireplace, but other than that the room was bare.

'Bloody hell, it's freezing in here." There was a rustling from the next bed over, and the curtains flickered. A boy with shocking red hair and freckles stuck his face out, glaring at the open window.

"Oh, sorry." He flushed and drew the scarlet hangings back further. "I didn't know anyone else was around. When did you get here?"

Harry sat up and swung his legs down to the floor. It felt like ice on his bare toes. "Just last night. You were already asleep."

"Oh." The other boy fidgeted nervously for a moment. "I'm Ron Weasley."

"I'm Harry - nice to meet you."

Ron nodded, and they sat there in awkward silence for a moment. Harry was thrilled for the opportunity to finally make some friends without the shadow of Dudley Dursley and his gang looming over him, but he hadn't had much practice and was a bit nervous.

"You're right though," he said after a minute. "It is bloody cold."

Ron grinned and they both relaxed.

"So how long have you been here?" Harry rooted through his trunk for his tunic. He was hoping to do some exploring on the grounds, and he didn't really want to get his robes dirty.

"About a week. My brother Bill drove me up." Ron pulled out a patched brown shirt and struggled to get it on over his head. The collar seemed a bit too small for his head.

"Does he go to Hogwarts too?"

"No, he never went. My brother Percy does, though, but he's a bit of a prat."

"Is he in Gryffindor?" Harry was hoping for the opposite - Percy the prat sounded like someone he'd like to avoid.

Grimacing, the other boy nodded. "Yeah, though I don't know how. Seems to me like he should've been a Ravenclaw; he's always swotting around, going on and on about how smart he is."

"You must be pretty smart yourself to get accepted too, though."

Ron pinked, but he looked pleased. "My mum thinks so too."

Harry finished getting dressed and went to the washroom, which was little more than a small closet with a self-emptying chamber pot, a pair of wooden buckets, and a rickety looking tub that was sure to leak even if there had been any discernible way to fill it up.

Confused, he returned to the dorm. "Is that the only bath?"

Ron glowered. "Yeah."

"How do you fill it up?"

"Until you learn how to conjure up water somehow, you have to lug it up from the lake."

Harry gaped at him. "You're not serious."

Scowling, the boy shook his head. "I asked Percy to fill it up for me, but the git refused. Apparently it's some sort of tradition for first years until we learn a few spells."

"That's horrible!"

Ron grinned suddenly. "Joke's on them though. Serves them right if I don't wash as much as I should - they don't want to smell me, they can help me fill up the bloody tub."

"I think I'd rather just bring some soap down to the lake and take my chances there."

"That wouldn't be too bad. Might be a bit chilly in the winter, though." The redhead shivered theatrically.

Harry nodded. Hopefully they could figure it out before the water started to ice over. "Wonder what class we learn the water spell in - that'll be the first thing I ask the teacher."

They left the room, and Ron led the way down the tower stairs. "Don't ask Percy," he said. "You'll end up with a thirty minute lecture about all the different ways to do it, and won't learn a bloody useful thing the whole time."

Harry promised not to. "Do you just have two brothers?"

Ron shook his head. "No I've got five actually, and a sister, but it's just me and Percy who got letters from Hogwarts. Ginny's still a year too young though, so maybe next year."

Harry wondered what it would be like to grow up in a family like that, with seven kids. He pictured seven Dudleys chasing him around Privet Drive and shuddered.

"What about you; you have any brothers or sisters?"

"It's just me." He didn't really feel like dredging up memories of his cousin or his muggle upbringing.

"Must be nice," Ron replied wistfully. "Not having to share everything."

Harry shrugged. "I guess. It gets kind of boring sometimes though."

They made their way down to the common room where a small trickle of students were milling about. Hermione was sitting near the fire reading, but she looked up when they entered the room.

"Harry!" She set her book down and bounced out of her seat. "I was beginning to think you were never coming down. I've been up for ages."

"Sorry Hermione. It was cold up in the tower and I didn't want to get out from the under the covers."

The girl brightened. "I've just been reading about warming charms, actually. One of the older apprentices lent me the book."

"When you figure it out, come up and do our room, would you then?"

"You could read it yourself, you know," she chided.

"Not before breakfast, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"By the way, this is Ron, one of my roommates. Ron, this is Hermione."

"Pleased to meet you." Hermione smiled expectantly.

Ron flushed and nodded. "You too."

"He's been here for a week already," Harry said. "What have you been doing the whole time, Ron? I never asked."

"Oh," Hermione interrupted. "Have you been to the library yet? Could you show us the way?"

"The library?" Confusion blossomed on the redhead's face. "Classes haven't even started yet."

"It's never too early in Hermione's book." Harry grinned and nudged the girl playfully.

She huffed irritably. "I'll find it myself then, if you don't want to go."

"Let's just go to breakfast, and we can find it after, alright?" He did want to go to the library, eventually, and there was no need to upset his first friend needlessly.

Harry didn't quite remember the quickest path down to the Great Hall, but luckily Ron had committed the route to memory.

"I got lost once and was late for dinner, and there was hardly anything left," the boy complained miserably as they trouped down a set of stairs. "I was starving all night."

"Couldn't you have gotten something in Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked.

The other boy shrugged, a faint spot of red darkening the freckles on his cheeks. "I haven't much pocket money, not until I find some work."

"Have you looked anywhere yet?" Harry asked. "I need to find some myself; the loan they gave me is running a bit low."

Ron's shoulders relaxed. "I checked with some of the Masters here, but most of them already have somebody to do their odd jobs. I was thinking of going into the village today and asking around."

"Mind if we come with you? Hermione needs to find something too."

"Remember, Harry, we have our appointments with Mistress McGonagall this afternoon."

Ron shrugged as they reached the entrance hall. "We can go right after breakfast if you want; that'll give you plenty of time to get back."

Plans made, they filed through the large open doors on the right.

The Great Hall was a room for kings. Instead of a jewel-laden throne - which would have looked perfectly at home in the vaulted chamber - there was a long wooden table stretched across the dais at the head of the room. A massive, ornate tapestry hung on the wall behind it, depicting a fantastic scene of valorous splendor. Hogwarts Castle was stitched into the background in lively colors, along with several shining blue mountains.

Four people were riding out of the castle gates. The first, a broad shouldered man with a thick tawny mane and beard, was charging out ahead, wand raised towards the faceless army gathering in the distance. The crest on his shield was the same as the one hanging on the door to Gryffindor Tower. The fury and excitement in the man's eyes blazed fiercely on the woven canvas, and Harry had to wonder if the thread was especially charmed to render such an effect.

Beside him, seated astride a giant white stallion, was a tall man with a pale, angular face and long raven black hair. His wand held aloft more cautiously than his companion, he studied the approaching force with casual disdain. He carried no shield, but a long, thin sword hung at his side, its point sharp and gleaming. The emblem of a snake slithered across his chest in strands of shining silver.

The other two figures were women. The first, riding a speckled bay, was slender and tan, with curly blonde hair that spilled heavily down to her waist. Her gown was woven in a rich forest green that mirrored the colors of the trees dotting the background near the lake. Curling black vines sprung up out of the earth in the footprints left by her steed, and wove themselves together in an thick, thorny barrier encircling the castle. She was the only one of the four who had been pictured without her wand.

The last of the group was a young woman - little more than a girl - with chestnut brown hair. She wore a simple grey dress and, unlike the others, did not ride a horse. The tail end of her impressive mount had the body of a large stallion and the front half that of an eagle. The beast looked ready to leap into the sky and soar, screeching in rage, at the invaders and all who aided them, but the girl herself was calm. Instead of watching the approach of the coming menace, she stared regally out at the viewer, wand gripped serenely in her left hand. Her blue eyes shone eerily, imparting both a thousand questions and a thousand answers all at once.

"Are those the founders?" Hermione took a few halting steps into the room, her eyes locked onto the work of art adorning the wall.

Ron followed her gaze. "Oh, that." He shrugged dismissively and started towards a long table on the far left. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Harry whispered. It seemed wrong to speak in the presence of such magnificence.

The girl nodded, clearly speechless herself.

The rest of the hall was exactly what he'd expect from a castle banquet room. Four long sturdy tables stretched out down its length, each decorated in the colors of one of the four houses. Iron candelabras hung from the vaulted ceiling above, but they were unlit. The bright morning sun shone through several recessed glass windows set into the walls, lending enough light to fill the grand space.

Breakfast itself seemed to be an informal affair, Harry noticed as they sat down. The tables were each only about a quarter full, and people were sitting together in small pockets spread out along their lengths. As the three newcomers took a seat with the other Gryffindors, three plates materialized on the table and a pitcher of pumpkin juice sprouted legs and scurried down three places to plop itself in front of them. A dish of eggs and a platter of sausage were already waiting nearby.

"The kitchen serves breakfast for the first three hours after sunrise." Ron loaded up his plate with several heaping spoonfuls of eggs, and then moved onto a plate of sausages. "Lunch and dinner are only two hours, starting at noon and five o'clock."

"Is it always this casual?" Hermione poured them all a glass of pumpkin juice and started to serve herself a decidedly more modest portion off the breakfast platter.

Ron shrugged and shoveled a huge forkful of potatoes into his mouth. "I'onno."

She grimaced. "I imagine the Harvest Banquet will be a bigger affair."

The other boy swallowed and nodded. "Percy says so."

They ate their fill - Harry delighted himself in taking as many servings as he could fit in his stomach - and left. The day was pleasant, though still a bit chilly, and the three students chattered happily on their way down to the village. When they reached Hogsmeade they split up, thinking they'd have better luck looking for employment if they didn't all try at the same places.

Harry stopped at the first likely looking building and considered it from the outside. A two-story stone building with a large fenced in paddock of pigs to the side, it appeared to be a butcher of sorts. Hesitating, he wondered if he could do that type of work, but forced himself to toughen up. He couldn't afford to be picky, and anyway he figured he needed to get used to that sort of thing; the magical world probably didn't have any supermarkets where the meat was already conveniently cut and packaged.

A broad shouldered man with thick brown hair was cleaning off a stone block underneath the eaves of the roof near the pig pen.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry approached the fence hesitantly.

The man looked up, and beckoned him forward. "What can I do you for, young sir?" he asked. "I've some cured ham in the cellar, and I can do you up some fresh pork if you'll wait."

"Actually, sir, I was wondering if you had any work available."

"Ah, sorry, lad. I've three sons myself, you see, and not enough work to split between them."

Thanking the man politely, Harry went on his way.

He continued meandering around the village at a slow pace. They hadn't taken much time the night before to really explore the small hamlet, and there was quite a lot to see. People along the lane were plentiful, many going about their chores outside their homes, and most gave him a wave and a cheerful hello as he passed by. Unlike the larger cities of Inverness and Lionsgate that sported many small shops along the streets, it appeared that most people here did their business straight out of their own homes.

The blacksmith, a jovial fellow named Jenson who appeared very regretful that he'd already hired on a boy for the season, had insisted he sit down for a mug of tea, which he boiled in an iron cauldron over the glowing coals of the large forge in the center of his workroom.

"You ought to try over at Durloft the carpenter's place." The smith drew a cloth cover over the collection of small daggers he'd just finished showing Harry. "He was looking for a boy, last I heard."

"Thanks, Mr. Jenson." Harry waved as he hopped the gate. "Thanks for the tea!"

He ran into Ron outside the carpenter's cottage, where the boy had just managed to secure himself the job.

"Congratulations, Ron, that's great!" Harry clapped his friend enthusiastically on the shoulder. "I was just about to check there myself; I'm glad one of us got it."

"He said he'd start me off at three sickles a day, which isn't much, but if I do good work he'll raise the pay."

"I hope I find something soon too."

They walked down the lane and passed a few unlikely looking buildings. Unless the lady of the house needed someone to watch her children, Harry didn't think he'd have much luck there.

"What about this place?" Ron peered in a dusty window of the next stone cottage. "Looks like he's got some sort of scroll shop in there."

Harry went inside to inquire. The front room of the interior was dedicated to three large easel-style desks, and dozens of shelves of books and rolled up parchments. A thin, balding man was hunched over one of the easels, carefully writing something on a clean sheet of parchment.

"Excuse me, sir." Harry waited politely by the door. The man looked like he was concentrating quite hard, and he didn't want to intrude.

"Just a moment, young man." The proprietor didn't look up; his eyes were fixed steadily on his work. "I'll be right with you."

Waiting patiently, Harry inspected the nearest shelf. Most of the scrolls were rolled up and tied with colored ribbons, and separated into smaller cubby holes fixed upon the shelf. A few books leaned along the edge of the case, though they didn't have any titles written out on the spine. Careful not to touch anything, Harry stepped back and stood by the door. Several minutes later, the man wiped off his quill and stuck it in an elegantly carved inkstand on his desk.

"Now then, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had any work available, for Saturdays."

The man hummed. "I haven't seen you around the village before. You down from the school?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I could do with a bit of help." The man eyed him thoughtfully. "You can read and write? What am I saying; of course you can, if you're going to Hogwarts. How's your hand with the quill? That's very important."

Thanks to the hours of practice he'd spent writing letters to Hermione over the summer, he'd managed to turn his nearly illegible script into something readable. "It's fair, sir."

The man tapped his long, ink stained finger against his cheek and sized him up. "Very well. Do you have a letter of introduction?"

Startled, Harry paused. "No, I don't sorry. Is that a problem?"

"Hmm," the man responded noncommittally. "What's your name, lad?"

"Harry Potter, sir."

"Potter? Any relation to James Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, surprised again. "He was my father. Did you know him?"

"I remember him from his school days. He liked to stop in now and then and have a look at my scrolls - I get in some rare treasures you know, on account of Hogwarts being nearby."

Desperately, Harry wanted to work for the man even more, knowing his father had been a frequent visitor to the dusty shop. "Please sir, I'm a hard worker. I wouldn't let you down."

"I suppose I could take you on for a bit of a trial," the man decided abruptly. "You can start two weeks from now, Saturday morning. I'll expect you two hours after sunrise. Pay will be three and a half sickles a day to start off with until I see what you can do."

Delighted, Harry smiled widely. "Thank you, sir. You won't be disappointed, I promise."

He left the shop grinning, so caught up in his excitement that it took Ron to point out the obvious.

"Congratulations, mate!" His companion cheered and slapped him on the back. "What are you going to be doing? Not reading dusty old books all day, I hope."

Harry stopped, and then laughed sheepishly. "You know what - I forgot to ask. My dad liked to go in there though, so it can't be too bad."

With the sun climbing slowly in the sky the day was turning warm, so the two boys stopped on a low stone bridge that traversed the river near the edge of town, and lounged a while with their feet in the cool water. Near midday, they figured they better start looking for Hermione, and ventured back in towards the center of town.

They found their companion sitting on the ledge of the fountain in the town commons with a disgruntled expression upon her face. She hadn't faired nearly as well as either of them, and was feeling quite sour about her prospects.

"I can't believe it," she complained indignantly when Harry told her where he'd be working. "I tried the copyist first thing; I thought it would be fascinating to read all those old books and scrolls while you worked, but the man refused to hire me because I didn't have a letter to recommend myself. How did you get him to hire you? You don't have a letter, do you, Harry?"

Shaking his head, Harry frowned uneasily. "No. He asked me but I told him I didn't have one, and then he asked me who my father was and said he'd hire me on for a trial."

Scowling, Hermione kicked a rock. "He asked me the same thing, but of course he'd never have heard of my parents."

Awkwardly, Ron shifted from foot to foot. "Couldn't you just have your father write you something? Or an uncle or someone?"

Hermione pinched her lips together tightly, and glowered at the fountain.

"Hermione's a muggleborn, Ron," Harry whispered. "I don't know if that would really help."

Ron gaped at Hermione, astonishment clear on his face. "Really? I didn't think they were real!"

"Of course I'm real," Hermione snapped. "I look real, don't I?"

Ron flushed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant - well I never thought I'd meet one. Percy said there was one in his class, but I thought he was telling tales."

"I'm not some mythic beast, Ronald," Hermione answered crossly. "I'm just the same as you or Harry."

"Except your parents are muggles." The boy sat down with a dazed look in his eye. "I've never been this close to a muggle before."

"I'm not a muggle!"

"But you've seen muggles before - you've talked to them."

"Er, Ron," Harry interrupted quickly. Hermione looked about ready to blow, and the red-head was only making it worse. "I grew up with muggles too, actually. That's how I know Hermione already. We both came from the muggle world."

"Bloody hell." Ron stared at him, slack-jawed. "But your parents -"

"They died when I was a baby. My mum was a muggleborn, and my only other family was her sister, so I guess somebody just sent me there to live."

"Blimey. What was it like?"

Harry sat down and shrugged his shoulders. "A lot different than here. I'm glad I don't have to go back."

Eventually, Hermione calmed down, though she was too frustrated to keep looking. Encouraged by his own success, Harry insisted on buying both of his friends lunch at the local tavern, The Three Broomsticks, instead of hiking back up to the castle for lunch. They celebrated with small mugs of something called butterbeer, which turned out to be quite delicious.

Harry suggested Hermione ask the tavernmaid, Rosmerta, if she needed any help serving tables, but the girl adamantly refused, saying she was too discouraged to cope with any more rejection until the next day at the very earliest. Not having anything else to do, and needing to get back to Hogwarts before too long, they left the village and made their way back up the mountain road.

Ron, who had already received his schedule, left them at the gates, stating his intention to lounge around by the lake for the rest of the afternoon, and possibly explore the edge of the forest.

Harry's meeting with the Head of Gryffindor was first, so he left Hermione in the common room and knocked on the door to McGonagall's office.

"Come in," the woman said. "Have a seat, Mr. Potter."

She finished writing a few words on the scroll spread out in front of her, tapped the ink dry with her wand, and then slid it across the desk. Drawn across the parchment was a chart that was broken down into hour long boxes for each day of the week.

"Your first class will be Fundamentals of Sorcery with the Headwizard on Monday mornings at nine o'clock." She indicated the Monday column on the scroll with her wand. "It is the only class you will have once a week; all others will meet at least twice."

Excited, Harry nodded and looked over the chart. His first day was going to be very interesting. After the class with Master Dumbledore, he went straight to Charms & Enchantments, and later in the day he would be learning Ancient Runes and Elemental Magic.

"You will notice you have an extra Potions class scheduled for Friday mornings at eight o'clock. When you meet Master Snape Tuesday afternoon, he will explain where you are to go for the extra hour. I suggest you pay attention, because the information is not on the chart - the location may vary from week to week."

"Yes, ma'am, I will."

"For all of your other classes, you may tap the name of the course with your wand, and the parchment will display the name of your instructor and where in the castle you will attend the lecture. I suggest you take this time before classes begin to become familiar with the locations." She eyed him sternly over the top of her glasses. "Tardiness is not something that we tolerate here at Hogwarts."

"I will, Mistress McGonagall, I promise." He was determined to make a good impression on all his Masters, and being late to class probably wouldn't get him very far in that regard.

"Good." She paused and folded her hands on top of her desk. "Now, as part of being a member of Gryffindor House, you will earn and lose points for your behavior and performance in class. I trust I do not have to explain that losing points is something you want to avoid."

"No ma'am."

"At the beginning of next summer, the House with the most points overall will earn a reward. Throughout the year, your standing from week to week will affect you and your classmates in many other ways."

"What kind of ways?"

"Among other things, the ranking determines what order the signup sheet for weekly chores is circulated throughout the houses."

"What kind of chores do we have to do?" Harry asked agreeably. He was certainly no stranger to earning his keep.

"Various things. This is a very large castle, and there are over a thousand people living here. You and your fellow apprentices are not exempt from contributing to its upkeep."

"I don't mind helping out."

"No, I don't expect you would," she answered, and continued on. "I encourage you and your classmates to keep the Gryffindor first years at the top of the ranking. You may find some of the tasks quite unpleasant if you're at the bottom of the heap. There are other benefits, also, that you may discover during the course of the year."

"I'll do my best," he promised. He couldn't imagine what sort of nasty things might need to be cleaned in a castle the size of Hogwarts, and he wasn't eager to find out.

"See that you do." She nodded perfunctorily. "One last order of business, and then you can be on your way - orientation for first year apprentices will take place after the Harvest Banquet at seven o'clock in the evening, in the antechamber off the Great Hall. See that you aren't late."

"Yes, Mistress, I won't be."

"Good. You may send in Miss Granger, now, if you please."

Harry got up, but stopped at the door.

"Mistress McGonagall?" He paused, waiting until she looked up from her papers. "My roommate, Ron Weasley, said that we have to bring up water from the lake if we want to take a bath. Is that true?"

The corner of the witch's lips twitched. "Yes, that is correct. You will find there are great many tasks you will have to complete by hand until you learn how to use magic to aid you. Consider it an incentive to pay attention in class, or to do a bit of private research. You do understand how fortunate you are to have this opportunity available to you, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Mistress McGonagall," he answered sincerely. "I appreciate it very much."

"We encourage you to learn as much as you can," the woman continued seriously, "and to find ways to use your magic to assist you in your daily life whenever possible. Not only is it good practice, but you will find that after your apprenticeship is over, having better control of your magic and a larger repertoire of spells at your disposal will afford you with many opportunities that might otherwise be unavailable."

"I promise to do my best. Hermione and I are on our way to find the library after she's finished here."

"Good." McGonagall nodded and adjusted her glasses. "Make sure to report to Madame Pomfrey in the Healers Wing if any of your spells go awry."

Grinning, Harry nodded and started mentally listing all the different things he wanted to figure out how to do with magic, starting with, of course, drawing a bath.

Having a bath turned out to be one of many worries. Harry soon discovered many more things he needed to add to his list - things he'd always taken for granted living in the muggle world.

That night after dinner, he and Ron decided to light a fire in the bedroom hearth so they wouldn't wake up so cold in the morning.

"Is it safe to leave it overnight?" Harry asked. The fireplace at the Dursley's house had only been for show. It lit up and flickered when his aunt flipped a switch underneath the mantle, but it was all just fancy lights.

Ron nodded as he contemplated the empty grate. "Yeah, I asked Percy. He said all the fireplaces in the castle are warded with safety spells."

"Did he tell you how to light it?"

The other boy scratched his head. "Maybe we should go ask?"

They trooped down two floors and knocked on the door at the end of the hall. A portly, black haired fellow answered the door and eyed them suspiciously. "What do you firsties want?"

"Er, is Percy around?" Ron asked.

"Ey, Perce!" the boy shouted into the room. "You expecting company?"

There was a muffled fumbling from further inside the room, and then the door opened wider. A pale boy with the same shocking red hair and freckles that Ron sported stepped out into the hall.

"What can I do for you, Ronald?"

"We wanted to know how to light the fire in our room. It's freezing up there in the mornings."

The older redhead drew himself up imperiously. "There are several methods. I prefer to use Ignem Aeternum, the everburning flame. It's a difficult conjuration, however, so you may want to consider other avenues at first. I recommend learning the Exardesco spell first; it's a good precursor to succeeding with the advanced spell. It will burn out eventually, though, so you may have to refresh it in the middle of the night if you want it to be warm in the morning."

Ron eyed his brother dumbly, mouth slightly agape. "We were hoping to get it lit sometime tonight, Perce."

"In that case, you'll want some wood. You can try the Incendio Charm, if you think you can manage it, but I suggest having a bucket of water handy for any mishaps. Mistress McGonagall will not be pleased if you set the tower on fire."

Grumbling, the two boys left the tower and trudged across the grounds to the forest. It was starting to get dark, so they hurried to gather up a few branches at the edge of the tree line. Neither of them fancied getting lost in the wilderness after the sun had disappeared completely.

"I don't know how much good this will do. There's no way we can get enough to burn through the night. And who's going to get up every half hour to add another log to the fire?" Ron whacked a long branch against a tree until it split into two more manageable pieces, and added them both to his small pile.

"Maybe those wards you mentioned will keep it going," Harry suggested hopefully.

"Merlin I hope so."

By the time they managed to gather as much as they could carry and heft it back up to the castle doors, it was nearly full dark. A few older students milling about the common room snickered good naturedly as they stomped up the stairs, but they ignored them. Their room was dark when they stumbled in. Harry banged his knee against the edge of one of the empty beds and bit back a curse.

"I can't wait until it's my second year and I can laugh at all the new firsties having to do this." Ron dumped his bundle of sticks and branches into a haphazard pile on the floor. "We should've grabbed a candle - hang on, I've got one by my bed. I'll go down and light it in the common room fire."

Harry waited while Ron thundered back down the stairs until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then starting sorting out their spoils. He'd never built a fire before, but he'd seen a few camping programs on the telly, and figured they needed to start with the small sticks and build up to the thicker logs.

Ron came back up a few minutes later with a single flickering light. It didn't do much, but Harry dutifully held it close to the grate while the other boy expertly laid out an arrangement of wood in the grate. They both stepped back to survey their work.

"Now what?" Harry asked. "I don't suppose you have any matches?"

"What's a match?"

"Never mind. So how do we start it up? We're not going to try that charm your brother suggested, are we? I don't really want to get kicked out for burning the place down."

The other boy shook his head and scratched his chin. "Don't know why I even asked Percy; his advice is always rubbish. Think we could light it with the candle?"

Harry eyed the stack of wood doubtfully. There were a few thin sticks poking out of the bundle, but he didn't think they were thin enough. "Haven't you ever done this before?"

"I never really thought about it before; my parents don't usually let the fire at home burn out. They probably know a few spells to get it going, anyway."

"What if we throw some parchment on the bottom? That burns, right?"

They rebuilt the fire with some wads of thick paper stuffed underneath the wood, and soon had a merry flame crackling in the hearth. Grinning victoriously at each other, they collapsed onto the fur rug in front of the cheerful light.

Basking in the warmth, Harry stared into the fire and let his thoughts drift. His first day had been wonderful beyond his expectations, despite a few minor difficulties. He wondered what he'd be doing right then if he'd never received his letter. Probably lying awake in his bedroom at the Dursleys, wishing he could run away. Well, he had run away, sort of, and he never had to go back.

He was sure they didn't miss him, either. If he knew Uncle Vernon, the man had probably taken his aunt and cousin out to celebrate the very night he'd dropped Harry off in London. Most likely, they'd already turned his bedroom into a home office, or a playroom for Dudley.

Sighing, he fingered the brown fur underneath his fingers. It was soft and quite long, and didn't look like it came from any animal that he'd ever seen. It certainly wasn't the right shape to be a bearskin. He flipped over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. The firelight flickered off the stones, making odd, shadowy shapes dance across the room.

He smiled suddenly. Dudley could take his playroom and sod off. Harry had an entire castle at his disposal, after all, and he was going to explore every inch of it. He got up and added another thick log to the fire, and then started getting ready for bed. Hopefully, the grate wouldn't be completely cold when they woke up in the morning.

* * *

Over the course of the week, Harry immersed himself exuberantly in the exciting new world at his fingertips. He, Ron and Hermione fell into their daily chores with good natured acceptance. They were often joined by many of the other first years from all four houses; the gentle hazing was apparently not limited solely to Gryffindor. The work went quickly with more hands, and they had plenty of time to enjoy the days before classes began.

They spent a bit of time in the library, and, mostly thanks to Hermione and her brilliance at pretty much everything, they built up an extensive syllabus of self-study topics to research after they learned how to use their wands. Sensibly, the girl had decided that they should wait until they had at least one class under their belt before attempting any spells, because trying to perform magic without any proper instruction was most definitely a terrible idea. They had dutifully located the infirmary and met Madame Pomfrey, the resident Herbalist and Healer, but they preferred not having to spend any time there before the year officially began.

Harry also managed to explore the castle grounds extensively with Ron, and sometimes, if they weren't planning on getting too muddy, Hermione. He made fast friends with the groundskeeper Hagrid, a kind man with a gentle nature and infectious good cheer that quickly overshadowed his enormous stature, and the stablemaster Melrick, who offered to teach the boys how to ride for ten knuts a lesson.

One morning after stopping in Hogsmeade to buy some provisions for a picnic lunch, they spent an entire day hiking through the forest, which was a world of ethereal magic all on its own. The trees were incredibly old and seemed almost alive in the eerie silence of the dark woods. Heavy branches above creaked mournfully as the three students climbed over the tangled, gnarly roots covering the mossy ground, and Harry offered up a silent apology for the intrusion. The woodland was so lost in quiet solitude it seemed as if no one else had walked there for over a thousand years.

While they were off exploring and having fun, Gryffindor Tower, as well as the rest of the school, continued to swell with both new and returning apprentices. Though the dormitories had been already full of students when they'd first arrived, the numbers nearly doubled by the end of the week. Two more boys had joined Harry and Ron in their tower room - a sandy haired lad called Seamus Finnigan who sported a cheerful grin and a hearty Irish accent, and a tall dark skinned boy named Dean Thomas whose mother and father lived just down the hill on a sheep farm on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

On the morning of the Harvest Banquet a series of loud bangs and strangled squawking woke Harry from a deep and pleasant sleep. Groaning, he rolled over in his bed and yanked the curtains open. Through the window, the soft light of dawn was only just beginning to illuminate the sky.

Ron, Seamus and Dean were huddled in the middle of the room staring wide eyed and slack jawed at the doorway. Hovering near the threshold was a fourth boy, a pale and pudgy lad with mousy brown hair and a panic stricken look upon his face. An oversized trunk was stuck behind him in the doorjamb.

"What's going on guys?" Harry asked. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Is this our new roommate?"

"Harry," Ron whispered furiously and grabbed his arm. "This bloke says he's Neville Longbottom."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He blinked and shook his head, wondering if he was possibly still asleep. "So?"

The three boys stared at him dumbly. "Neville Longbottom," Dean repeated slowly.

Confused, Harry turned to the newcomer. "Hullo Neville, welcome to Gryffindor. I'm Harry Potter."

The boy's eyes lit up. Awkwardly, he bowed his head and gave Harry a nervous smile. "It's nice to finally meet you Harry."

"Er, yeah. You too, I guess."

"Neville Longbottom, Harry," Ron hissed. His fingers were digging uncomfortably into Harry's forearm.

"Yes I heard you the first time, Ron." Harry loosed himself with an irritated shake. "Now if it's alright with you lot, let's help Neville get his trunk through the door so we can all go back to bed."

With a bit of pushing and pulling and a fair amount of cursing, they managed to get their new roommate's monstrous luggage into the room. Neville immediately disappeared behind the safety of his bed curtains, but Harry couldn't say that he blamed him. Not only was it still frightfully early, their other three roommates had apparently gone round the twist. As he climbed back into the warmth of his own pillows and blankets, Harry heard them still out in the room carrying on a frantic, whispered conversation.

With an irritated huff, he grabbed one of his pillows and threw it in their general direction. There was a thump and a muffled shout of protest, and then the room was blissfully quiet. He heard the door open and shut; the three boys must've decided to take their lunacy elsewhere, which suited him just fine. Sighing happily, he plumped his remaining pillow and burrowed in for another few hours of sleep. He'd worry about their odd behavior later.

When he woke again and peered out from behind his curtains, the sun was properly up above the horizon and shining brightly into the room. There was a bit of rustling from Neville's bed, but the other three boys were still absent. Yawning, Harry got up and started getting dressed for the day.

He'd learned a little about the Harvest Banquet during his week of exploration around his new home, mostly from Hagrid when he went for tea. The groundskeeper had been busy all week preparing the decorations for the feast, and had been cheerfully delighted to talk about it. Apparently it was the highlight of the summer for many of the inhabitants of the surrounding countryside. It was not only a celebration for the apprentices, but for all the farmers and tradesmen that worked the land nearby. Many of them earned their livelihoods trading exclusively with Hogwarts, and the feast was the school's way of showing them some appreciation for all their hard work. Keeping the school stocked with enough food to feed over a thousand people every day required a fair amount of supplies, and a rather large larder.

He set out his best robe to change into after lunch, and then went about the arduous task of getting water for a bath. Earlier in the week he and Ron had gone swimming in the lake, but the water was very cold, and he didn't think he could manage it so early in the morning. When the sun was high in the sky the water had seemed much less frigid. Thankfully, the water buckets provided in the washroom must've been charmed to hold enough water to fill the tub, once filled, so he only had to make one trip. He passed two other Gryffindor first years who were making the same pilgrimage, a boy he had yet to meet, and Lavender Brown, who was one of Hermione's roommates.

Somehow, Lavender had managed to foist her buckets off on her companion, who was struggling under their cumbersome weight. Harry chuckled, and darted up the stairs before the girl could waylay him as well.

When he finished bathing, Neville was up and digging through his trunk. The inside of the chest seemed even larger than the outside, if that was possible. In addition to whatever else was packed inside, there was an entire wardrobe of elegantly trimmed robes and crushed velvet tunics hanging from the lid.

Harry whistled appreciatively. "Nice duds."

Flushing, Neville looked up. "Thanks. I hate them all, mostly. My grandmother made me pack them."

"Well she's not here to make you wear them, is she?" Harry grinned, and nodded towards the blue fabric bunched up in the other boy's fist. "That one's not too bad."

"I'd rather have something like yours." He looked wistfully at the plain brown robe hanging on the other bed. "Wish I'd thought to get something simple, so I wouldn't stick out so much."

"There's a seamstress in Hogsmeade. My friend Hermione stopped in the other day to look around. There wasn't much but I'm sure you could find something."

Neville eyed his pile of colorful ensembles and then sighed. "I'm sure it'd get back to my grandmother somehow, and she wouldn't be pleased. She's a bit scary when she's angry, you know," he confided nervously. "I better not take the chance."

Harry shrugged. He wouldn't mind having something a little nicer than the things he'd purchased, but Neville's outfits were a bit over the top. Some of them had frilly lace round the cuffs, even.

The banquet wasn't due to begin until that afternoon, so he took his new roommate down to breakfast and then showed him around the school. They started in the library, since Harry wanted to look for Hermione, who hadn't been at the Gryffindor table that morning.

"The shelves aren't sorted in any particular order that I could figure out," Harry commented ruefully as they walked down one of the narrow stacks. The shelves were lined with hundreds of yellowing scrolls and tomes.

"You could just summon whatever you're looking for."

"I'm not taking Conjuration & Summoning, though."

"There's bound to be other ways. There's a charm built into the library at home that I always used when I was looking for something."

"You have library at your house?"

Neville gave him a funny look. "If you want to call it a house."

Harry frowned, but shrugged the strange comment aside. "Anything you want to see next? We could try to find your classrooms so you know where to go tomorrow."

The other boy shrugged and pulled at his ear. "I'm not sure I'm going to remember even if we do. I'm always getting lost at home, and I've lived there all my life."

"Er - well I'm sure you'll get used to it. Come on; let's have a look at your course schedule. If we've got some of the same classes, you can follow me until you get the hang of it. I think I've figured out most of the directions. The Potions laboratory is a bit tricky though; I swear the corridors in the dungeons change every day."

Neville fished out his schedule and handed it over. "I'm not taking Potions. Gran wanted me to but I refused; I've never been good at it. My tutor tried to teach me the basics a few years ago and I blew up sixteen cauldrons in three days."

Harry raised an eyebrow appreciatively. "Really? What were you trying to make?"

"I don't even know; I think that was part of the problem."

The boy looked so hopelessly despondent that Harry had to laugh. He chuckled and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Well you don't have to worry about it now, anyway. We'll just make sure you stay far away from the dungeons."

"That's a first rate idea if I ever heard one." A blonde haired boy with ivory pale skin and icy grey eyes stepped out from between the next stack of books and stopped in front of them. He was dressed almost as finely as Neville, though his colours were muted and subtle. "He's developed quite the reputation with the subject, from what I've heard."

A dark cloud shadowed Neville's face. "Malfoy," he greeted through clenched teeth.

"Longbottom." The blonde bowed lazily, just barely tipping his head. Then he turned, and re-shelved the slim book he'd been flipping through. "I was rather surprised when Father told me you'd been accepted here after all; we were all so concerned for you for a while there."

Neville flushed, and hunched his shoulders.

"I knew I'd get a letter of course, so I can't imagine what it must've been like, waiting to find out. It must've been agonizing, I'm sure."

Harry frowned. The boy reminded him a little bit of his cousin Dudley, though not as fat and dressed up in nicer clothes. "Neville's a brilliant wizard," he insisted.

Malfoy looked at him coolly. "You must be Potter," he remarked after a moment. "I have to say, you're not really what I expected."

"I'm sorry, have we met?" That the boy had been expecting anything from him at all was baffling, and momentarily derailed his ire.

"I try to make it a point to know who's who."

"And just who are you, then?" It was perhaps a bit impolite, but Harry couldn't help himself. The boy's casual arrogance was making his skin itch.

Beside him, Neville choked and started coughing.

The blonde frowned and narrowed his eyes, but dipped his head in another shallow bow. "I'm Draco Malfoy, of the Wiltshire Malfoys." Boyish pride coloured his voice, cracking the cool, snobbish veneer on the surface. "You'd do well to remember."

"I'm not sure I will, Malfoy. Be sure to remind me next time, alright?" Harry grabbed Neville by the arm and dragged him towards the end of the aisle. "It's been such pleasure, but we really must be going now! Important things to do, you know!"

They raced out through the stacks and into the hall, not stopping until they'd turned three corners and climbed a set of stairs.

Panting, Neville slumped against a wall. He giggled cheerfully. "I can't believe you did that, Harry. He's probably going to be furious."

"How do you know him anyway? He seems like a git."

The other boy grimaced. "His father is always hanging around. They're a really old family, so we can't exactly kick them out, even if they drive everybody spare. I hate it, really. He's always watching me, and I know he's just waiting for me to mess up. Fudge loves him though."

Harry nodded uncomfortably. Trying to keep his muggle upbringing a secret was becoming increasingly difficult. There were too many things he didn't know - too many names he didn't recognize. Besides Hermione - and Ron, whenever he remembered Harry's sordid past - most of his compatriots just assumed that he understood the references they all took for granted.

"Listen Harry - I wanted to say thank you for not acting like the others when we met this morning." His cheeks turning slightly pink, Neville fumbled nervously with his hands. "I was really nervous about coming here; I really hate all the attention. I'm not good with people."

"Er, sure Nev, no problem." Harry hesitated, wondering if he should come clean.

"When Mistress McGonagall told me you were in my dormitory, it was such a relief. I've been wanting to meet you for a while."

Sighing, Harry steered the boy over to a niche in the wall and sat down. "I have to tell you something Neville."

He faltered, considering how to begin. He felt like he'd been leading the poor boy on. Finally, he decided to just throw it all out there and deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. "I have no idea who you are."

Neville stared at him dumbly, uncomprehending. A wrinkle crept across his brow. "You - you don't know who I am?"

"Well, I know you're Neville Longbottom, unless you were lying about that earlier, but otherwise - no. Everybody seems to think I should, and you seem to know who I am, which really threw me for a loop, by the way."

"I don't understand."

Harry shrugged. "That makes two of us then."

"But - but how?"

He paused. "You know who I am, right? Was I right about that?"

Neville nodded.

"Do you know what happened to my parents?"

A stricken look darted across the other boy's face. "Yes. I'm so sorry, Harry."

"It's alright; it wasn't your fault. If I ever find the wizard who did it, he's the one who'll be sorry."

A light flashed in Neville's eyes. He leaned forward and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry pushed on. He felt uncomfortable accepting sympathy - it wouldn't bring his parents back, or give him the life he should've had.

"My mum was a muggleborn, and I went to her sister's house to live. They took me in and raised me in the muggle world. I didn't know I was a wizard, or that the magical world even existed, until earlier this summer when I got my Hogwarts letter," he said.

Silence filled the hallway. Neville opened his mouth, and then shut it. Finally, he let out a deep breath. "Wow."

"Yeah."

They sat there for ten minutes, not speaking, as the other boy worked through the startling revelation.

"I always wondered where you'd gone, and why your family never brought you to Lionsgate," Neville said finally. "I assumed you were living with some distant relatives."

Harry snorted. "Some very distant ones, if you want to think of it that way. My aunt would probably go into hysterics if I tried to take her to the city."

"You know what Lionsgate is, then?"

"McGonagall took me shopping there this summer. It's brilliant. I wish I'd grown up there." He turned and smiled encouragingly. "Suppose it's your turn now?"

"My turn?" Neville asked. Confusion coloured his voice.

"Yeah, to tell me who you are, and why you know me even though we'd never met before."

"Oh, that." The boy fingered the seam on his tunic nervously.

"If you promise not to think of me any differently because I was raised by muggles, then I promise not to think of you any differently, no matter what you tell me."

Neville smiled gratefully, and straightened. "Did McGonagall show you the castle?"

Harry nodded. "We didn't go in it though; we didn't have enough time."

"Do you know who King Francis is?"

He hadn't thought much of the name since the Deputy Headwitch first brought it up during their shopping trip. There'd been too many other exciting things battering his brain, and he'd forgotten that the magical world had a king. "Yes, but not much about him. McGonagall mentioned there was a regent though."

"Fudge," Neville said. He twisted a large ring around his middle finger. A knut sized ruby sparkled in the setting. "He's the regent."

"What happened to the king?"

The boy was quiet for a moment. His shoulders drooped. "He's sick. The queen too. They're alive still, but they're both - they don't know who they are. They don't even respond if you try to talk to them."

Harry waited, sensing there was something more the boy wasn't telling him. He clapped his companion's shoulder gently, and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It's alright, Nev, whatever it is."

Neville looked up. His eyes were wet and starting to redden, and the expression on his face was hopeless and lost. "They're my parents."

Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that. Shock flooded through him as he realized that this shy, fumbling boy sitting next to him with teary eyes and sniveling nose was the son of a king - that he would be a king himself, someday, when he grew up, providing that monarchies worked the same way in the magical world as they did in the muggle world. His surprise quickly turned to sorrow and desperate compassion, when he realized why the boy was so upset. He wasn't the only one who had lost his parents, it seemed.

"I'm so sorry Neville."

They sat there in the deserted hallway for a long while, mourning their shared losses in companionable silence until their eyes were once again dry, and their moods improved.

"So how is that you knew about me before I knew about you?" Harry asked.

"I know all the noble families," Neville said with a shrug. "Ever since I was five I've had to recite names and family trees for my tutor until I could do it all by heart. Most of the other kids have been to court though, so I've met them all before. Nobles really like to hang around the castle. I don't know why - most of the time, I just wish I could go somewhere else."

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. "What do you mean, noble families? What does that have to do with me?"

"The Potters are a really old family. Older than the Malfoys probably." He stopped suddenly, a stricken look upon his face. "That's not the only reason I wanted to meet you though, Harry. Our parents were friends. My Gran used to tell me stories about my father and your father; they went to Hogwarts together. I - I know it's silly but I hoped we could be friends too."

"It's not silly Neville. I'm sure we'll be great friends."

The boy smiled shyly and began to chatter on excitedly about the stories he'd heard about Frank Longbottom and James Potter. Harry nodded occasionally, and tried to keep up, but his mind felt filled with fog.

In one simple, offhand comment, he'd learned more about his father than he'd known his entire life. The story he'd been told as a boy was starting to get twisted and coloured, and he wasn't sure that he knew the truth, now.

His father had been a friend of the king, and came from a family of nobles. A family of noble wizards, no less. Surely a man of such means wouldn't have been stumped by a home break in gone wrong, even if intruder had been wielding a wand as well.

Dazed, he frowned and rubbed his head. Questions only spurred more questions, and he wasn't sure where to find the answers. If the Potters had been so old and important, what had happened to them all? Why had he been sent to live with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and who had sent him there?

He was no closer to any conclusions by the time it was time to start down to the Great Hall for the banquet, and he soon found it impossible to think of anything but the feast. The room, complete with two extra tables to fit all the invited guests, was buzzing with merriment and good cheer when they arrived.

Hagrid had outdone himself with the decorations. Late summer flowers hung in garlands along the walls, and rustic arrangements of colorful gourds and squashes dotted the long tables. Along one wall, a buffet was piled high with trays of the most delicious food Harry had ever seen. A bounty of fruits and vegetables newly hauled in from the fields and orchards spilled out of their bowls, while dozens of platters of fresh game filled the room with enticing aromas. The prize centerpiece was a whole roast boar, larger even than Harry himself.

Neville hung shyly behind Harry as he steered them towards the Gryffindor table. Thankfully, Hermione had managed to save a space across from her, and the two boys were able to squeeze in between Ron and a second year apprentice called Katherine Bell.

Things got off to an awkward start when the students around them recognized Neville's name, but soon they were all lost in the frenzy of celebration. In addition to the lavish dinner, there was music, dancing and drinking well into the evening. Harry and his friends stuck to pumpkin juice and butterbeer, but many of the older guests and apprentices drank deeply from the self-refilling jugs of wine spread down the tables.

At the end of the night, Harry was exhausted, but unable to fall right asleep. He lay in his bed, his skin still tingling from the heady feeling of magic that had infused the atmosphere in the Great Hall, and shivered with nervous anticipation at what the following day would bring. Classes would begin at nine o'clock, and he would finally learn how to create that feeling himself. With that thought in mind, he grinned, and fell deeply into a much needed sleep.


End file.
